Ships of Time
by runephoenix6769
Summary: AU Fic . .First in a planned Trilogy.. (season 1-3 characters) Santana Lopez, an aging Hollywood icon has come out of seclusion to give a once off interview about her experience and survival on the ill fated Unsinkable ship... Brittana centric. hints of Pezberry and Pummel friendship, Quinntana rivalry Rated T maybe M for later chapters...
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

14th April 1982. Los Angeles. California.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror as the young man fussed over her hair, meticulously making sure that every strand was fixed in place.

She smiled, inwardly, at the stark contrast of white conformity, she had given up on colouring it years ago, compared to the memory of the dark, rebellious locks of her youth.

"When did you become such an old girl?" She mused.

Her chocolate brown eyes still carried a sense of mischief and fire that belied her age. Older, wiser but still full of devilment none the less. She absent mindedly drew her thumb over the back of her wrinkled hand, the caramel of her skin making barely visible the spots of time.

Through the mirror, she caught the eye of the stylist. Breaking the comfortable silence,

"You remind me of someone."

"I'm honoured Ms Perez!" The flamboyant young man replied as he sprayed her hair with a flourish.

"Please, call me Santana. "

He nodded as he put the finishing touches to her coiffured chignon, reminiscent of her movie star days.

Lost in thought she barely heard the knock and the door open as a blond woman, with a clip board and a rather frazzled appearance, popped her head into the dressing room,

"We're ready in 5 Ms Perez. "

Tearing herself back, she nodded. Rising slowly, she used her hands to smooth over the elegant black Chanel dress; Coco had always been one of her favourites.

She glanced at her reflection one last time. Satisfied with her appearance she straightened her shoulders as best she could, reaching for her cane , as loath as she was to use it at 89 she was no longer as young as she used to be.

The stylist handed it to her. Clasping both hands to his chest. He murmured.

"Beautiful. As always. "

She smiled in reply as she made her way to the door. Her uneven fingers ghosting over the silver dolphin pendent hanging from the simple chain at her neck as she whispered,

"This is for you, Britt"

- O-x-O-

She could hear the muffled sounds of the studio through the walls and many doors that aligned the corridor as she followed the blond assistant down to the interview room.

She realised that she hadn't been listening when the woman stopped outside white double doors, announcing they where at interview room number 4.

"Sorry dear."

The blond was staring at her, with a look of apprehension,

"I was saying, Diane will give a quick over view about the anniversary, introduce you, for those that may not know who you are."

The young stylist snorted, rolling his eyes.

The assistant glared at him, not impressed at being interrupted,

"Then she'll start the interview with some of the prearranged questions. Now it's not live so if it gets too much we can always take a break. Just say when, ok? "

Santana shot the stylist a smirk, missed by the blond who had already entered the room.

If only she knew!

-O-x-O-

Surveying the room she chuckled to herself as she took in all the people bustling about, heads bent, on some important mission. At least some things in show biz hadn't changed!

To the right, on a raised platform, centre stage, set up to look like a modern but classy living room, where two plush cream leather seats, set at an angle, either side of a glass coffee table. One of which was already occupied. Set back, there was, in the middle, on a stand, a small television and behind that a hanging, commemorating the anniversary, adorning the wall. To the left, she peered into what looked like a dark cavern to be met by an array of cameras, coloured lights blinking as the camera men and various members of the crew checked and rechecked the cables and connections. Spot lights hung from above, angled to illuminate everything on the stage perfectly.

It was a far cry from the days when she had first walked the boards, usually in a converted warehouse, picking her way through the skeletons of discarded scenery, to finally arrive on the make shift stage, that; back then, would constitute a set.

It had always looked more magical on film.

She closed her eyes as she breathed in the air surrounding her, waiting for the familiar smells, fresh paint and wood, mixed in with the buzz and electricity, the essence of the Moving Pictures, that would always fill her with an over bursting excitement before she went on to give a performance. She exhaled, it wasn't there.

Things where different now.

A tall, dark haired, man, dressed in a shirt and pressed slacks, was stood on the caverns floor, barking orders.

"Ms Perez is here." The assistant announced.

A hushed murmur rolled through the room as everyone briefly looked up, acknowledging her presence before resuming what they where doing.

The dark haired man replaced his stern expression with a charming smile as he approached her.

"Hi, I'm Max . I'm the director. Is a pleasure to finally meet you."

"It's a pleasure to be here." She replied.

"Well Ms Perez if you need anything just ask Nancy here. She'll take care of you" Waving in the direction of the blond assistant.

"If you'd like to take a seat then Diane can give you a quick run down and when your ready we can start."

Nancy, the assistant, guided her across the stage. Santana lowered herself gently into the seat opposite an immaculately dressed middle aged brunette, wearing a huge white mega watt smile, who leaned across the table, upsetting an army of make up artists in the process, offering her perfectly manicured hand.

"Hello, I'm Diane, we spoke earlier on the phone. Can I say? I've always been a huge fan of your work."

She took it in her own , shaking it firmly, with a genuine smile she replied,

"Like wise."

And she meant it.

She was very familiar with Diane Krueger's work.

When Santana had first been approached, with the idea of possibly giving a interview, as with all other requests over the decades, she had point blank refused, until she had heard that the well established reporter would be the main overseer of the project.

She had always admired Diane's technique. Her ability to put the interviewee at ease was legendary, preferring to guide the flow of the interview, coaxing the answers she wanted, rather than being abrasive or over bearing. She was renowned for handling delicate subject matter with a certain grace and finesse.

Yes, Santana knew that Diane Krueger would be the perfect person for the tale she had to tell.

Letting go, she shifted back into the seat trying to make herself comfortable. Placing the cane down the side of the chair she demurely crossed her legs at the ankle. She watched as Max peered behind the camera then pulled back as he cast a critical eye.

"Make up!" He yelled.

Immediately she was surrounded by an array of make-up artists. There was a flurry of activity as they fluffed and dabbed at her wrinkled mocha face, with brushes and sponges, checking skin tone and covering the slight glare from the lights overhead.

Over whelmed with a sense of claustrophobia, her eyes flitted round the stage, her brief look of panic catching the attention of the young stylist who automatically started shooing away the offending intruders. The memories of once seeing similar mannerisms calmed her.

"Thank you," She breathed.

"Their like a pack of vultures, always hovering around,"

She stifled a laugh as she watched them, in their black attire, return to their circle, surrounding the reporter. They did resemble vultures.

"What's your name?" She asked

"Bryan."

"Please would you stay? For the interview?"

She watched the excitement fill his eyes and the slight tinge of colour creep across his porcelain cheeks as he gushed,

"Of course, Ms Perez! For an icon such as yourself, anything,"

She heard the woman opposite her, give a slight cough. The flock of vultures having retreated.

"Ms Perez, may I call you Santana?"

"Of course, Diane!"

"Do you need anything Ms Perez?" Nancy asked.

"Just a glass of water would be fine thank you."

Nancy poured the glass of water over a generous amount of water and a slice of lemon, handing it to her. Santana took a sip. Turning her attention back to the expectant reporter as she placed the glass upon the table,

"I have to admit, I'm quite nervous. It seems I've been out of the game for quite some time."

Diane smiled,

"Well Santana, I'll let you in on a little secret. I'm nervous too, which I haven't been since I started my career. Interviewing one of the greats and being the first to do so in over 40 years can be a bit nerve wracking but shhh, don't tell anyone." She winked conspiratorially

Santana laughed, deeply. People looked over briefly, to see what had caused the sudden outburst, then turned back to what they where doing.

"You'll do fine. Just ignore the cameras and once we get started it will be like it's just you and me. We'll stick to what we discussed and maybe at the end tie it in, slightly, to your autobiography. I promise. I want to do this piece justice"

She appreciated Diane's warmth and assurance.

Another two more members of the crew approached to two women.

"Diane, Ms Perez, we just have to attach your mics "

A bearded man, who looked to be in his 20's, wearing jeans and a backwards baseball cap gently clipped the small mic to the rounded collar of her dress, affixing the battery pack beside her.

"We just need to test them. If you could just speak into it, please?"

" Testing. Testing. One. Two, "

Santana followed the reporters lead. She cleared her throat,

" Testing. Testing."

The crew member looked at Max who smiled and nodded.

"Camera One."

"Check!"

"Camera Two."

"Check!"

"Camera Three."

"Check!"

"Right, people. Let's do this! Is everybody ready and in position?"

There was a rumble of agreement. Bryan gave her a thumbs up. The red light, to the side of the stage, turned green.

"Diane Krueger. Santana Perez. Titanic's 70th Anniversary interview. Take One."

Fleetingly bringing the dolphin to her lips, she steeled herself.

"Lights!"

"Camera!"

"Action!"


	2. Chapter 2

A/N Just would like to say huge thanks for all the reviews and follows I got. Am sorry it took me a while to update. My laptop was banjaxed to had to run about trying to get a something to tide me over…

I don't have a beta at the moment so any grammatical errors and spelling mistakes are my own. I apologise. I am looking for a beta so if any one is interested drop me a line.

You can also get in contact at my handle. Tumblr . com

So heres another titbit. Hope u like it.

**Disclaimer: Do not own Glee Characters or Titanic. **

Chapter 2.

_April 14th 1982. Los Angeles, California._

"Hello and welcome to Ships of Time, a once off special commemorating the anniversary of the Titanic .I'm Diane Krueger"

Santana watched as the anchor went from charming the camera with her Hollywood smile to suddenly solemn and respectful

"It's been 70 years since that ill fated night when, in the early hours of 15th April, 1912, whilst upon her maiden voyage to America, the Titanic also known as the Unsinkable ship collided with an iceberg, before disappearing beneath the waves of the Atlantic Ocean" She paused slightly for dramatic effect, clasping her hands in her lap. "With the tragic loss of over 1500 souls."

Santana reached for her glass, swallowing slowly. Diane's voice was soothing; she could imagine the viewer at home settling down to listen to the talk show host.

"Now with me in the studio is a very special guest who has kindly agreed to give us an exclusive and share her experiences aboard the liner. Ladies and Gentlemen, Ms Santana Perez." She exclaimed, turning to the former actress.

Santana shifted in her seat. She could feel the cameras on her!

"It's a pleasure to be here Diane" she replied, the easy smile she wore belying the butterflies in her stomach.

"Now Santana up until 40 years ago many of your friends and colleagues believed you to be a Spanish immigrant done good, a testament to the American Dream. Whilst your fans where sold on you being distantly related to the Spanish Royal Family. "

She laughed lightly as she replied,

"I was born in America, just down the road in Napa Valley actually, my mother Elizabeth was Californian. However, I was mainly raised in Europe as that's where the majority of my fathers business was at the time.

Back in the prohibition days a handful of people heard me sing but it wasn't until the movies got sound that the majority of people realised I spoke English, with an American accent to boot!

I was lucky! A lot of actor's were not able to make the cross over and as you know, that's when my career really took off. My father WAS the cousin of a minor Spanish Don, so that part is true! But that's all in my auto biography." She winked.

The interviewer nodded, the corners of her lips upturned at the smoothness in which Santana had slipped in the up and coming release.

" It was the publication of your close, personal friend and renowned philanthropist, Quinn Fabray's memoirs, after she passed away, that it came to light your where actually in fact Miss Santana Lopez, one time fiancée of the Pittsburgh business magnate, Richard Hartley, the owner of the famed Heart of the Ocean diamond. It was said to of been given to you as an engagement present?"

The Latina woman nodded.

"Yes Diane."

The reporter continued, "It was around this time that you went into seclusion. Why?"

The one time singer twirled the diamond ring on her finger, A hint of bitterness creeping into her voice as she spoke,

"Once it all came out, it seemed that's all anyone wanted to talk about, enthusiasts, historians, gossip columnists and the like. People wanted to know why I had given a different name and about the Heart of the Ocean. It became too difficult for my career. It was too painful;. I've never publicly spoken about it"

"Yes, and that's why we're grateful that you agreed to this interview. "

Santana caught the sincerity in the other woman's eyes. She returned the look,

"Thank you." A flicker of sorrow crossed her features, filling her deep mocha orbs before confiding, softly, "It's time, I think."

Diane let her compose herself, allowing the emotion to fill the room before continuing.

"Santana we have here some photographs from the private collection of the late Quinn Fabray. Over the years there have been many requests to view them made to the Fabray Titanic Foundation. .All have been refused!

Did you know that they where left with strict instructions never to be released unless you agreed to an interview or in the event of your passing?"

"No!" Santana shook her head in surprise.

She had no idea that Quinn had been tracking them down, never mind collecting them. Even beyond the grave her friend was still looking out for her.

"These images have never been seen by the public eye before!" Diane exclaimed.

A few black and white images appeared on the screen between the two women. They showed the ship being built in the dock at Belfast. Another, taken over the crowd on the day she set sail, depicting the sheer size of the liner.

A shot taken on deck of a few men wearing open waistcoats, round collared shirts, flat caps and lazy smiles as they leaned against the railing behind them.

Then the intricately carved staircase, which led down to the first class dining area. appeared. Even in the photographs, the eye could see no expense had been spared on the interior.

Suddenly, an image depicting a group of people of various ages sat at a dining table with raised glasses filled the screen. They where dressed in formal dinner attire of the time. It screamed decadence and privilege.

She gasped inwardly, raising her hand to her lips. Staring at her through the years where many faces she had not seen since that ill-fated night, decades previously.

For a moment, she could hear the tinkle of silverware, the gentle lull of the band mingling with hushed conversation. She could smell the aromas of the gourmet meal. Taste the bitter sting of the champagne.

Diane's soft voice brought her back to the present,

"Please could you tell us who is in the photograph with you?"

Clearing her throat, trying to disperse the hard lump in her chest, she asked,

"May I see it, please?"

Diane handed her a leather bound album, open at the correct page. Santana bowed her head, her fingers fluttering briefly across the faces over the protective layer as she studied the picture. Looking back at the screen she spoke, her voice tinged with the timbre of emotion,

"It was taken that night. Can you see the date in the bottom left hand corner?"

The anchor nodded. Sure enough, there written was 14th April 1912 in loopy cursive.

"If I recall we'd been invited to the captains table for the evening meal. At Richards's insistence of course"

A small grimace passed over her face as she pointed to a tall dark haired man wearing an arrogant sneer, sat beside an older man with white whiskers and a naval suit.

"I believe he felt it only befitting of his station."

She continued, motioning to a heavy set, stern looking man next to a stoic looking lady and a delicately pretty blond. "Russell Fabray, his wife Judy and their daughter, Quinn."

She chortled as she hovered over the next face, "Trouty mouth! We called him that on account of, well you can see for yourselves!"

A small titter rolled through the studio at her affectionate name for the young man whose huge, puffy lips where apparent even through his wide smile. She waved her hand, laughing,

"No! No! I am sorry, that is Sam Evans. He was a Texan oil tycoon. He was very funny, always trying to do impressions and entertain everyone. I remember the Fabray's where very keen for a match between himself and Quinn. Next to him is a gentleman that went by the name of..of ."

She raised a finger to her lips and she pondered,

"Oh yes! Shuester. He was travelling Second class. A few exceptions where made that night as he was the only known reporter on board and owned a camera. The Titanic was the biggest story at the time. Everybody wanted to be included and make the headlines."

"Sue Sylvester!" She exclaimed, her dark brown orbs gleaming as they landed upon a haughty woman with close-cropped hair, who looked like she was trying to kill the offending camera with her glare.

"Sue Sylvester of Victory Studios? The Golden Age powerhouse, who gave you, your big break?

The actress clasped her hands as she smiled,

"The one and the same. She boarded at Cherbourg. The poor guy beside her was her rather harangued husband Blaine. He was her personal assistant essentially. She even refused to take his last name. She was quite the spitfire. And finally, my aunt, Sarah Oakville and myself!"

"Sorry, Santana. You seemed to of skipped over someone. Who is the blond sat between yourself and Sue?" The reporter asked.

She lingered over the image of a taller girl, wearing an elegant black dress, long blond locks swept over her right shoulder. Through the ages she could suddenly feel her fingers being squeezed tightly. Her eyes began to prick as she looked at the two huge grins plastered across their faces.

She had been, in that moment, truly happy.

"Ms Perez?"

She realised that herself and the whole studio had been holding their breath.

"That," She paused, "Is Brittany S Pierce."

"Brittany S Pierce? " The interviewer looked at her notes, " In our research we've never come across that name aboard the Titanic."

"No, No. You wouldn't have." Santana mused.

"Please could you tell us about the ship and maybe who she was?" Diane ventured.

The actress began,

"She saved my life. She really did. Its been 70 years since that night. I can still smell the fresh paint. The sheets had never been slept in. The china had never been used. To many, the Titanic was The Ship of Dreams. To many it was it truly was."

**Santana's P.O.V **

_April 10th 1912. Southampton. England._

The car jostled as it started through the thick crowd. I shifted uncomfortably in the leather seat as I tried to avoid the spring poking into my buttocks every time the driver hit the brakes.

He sounded the horn, making an annoying squeaky honk.

"Get out of the way!" I heard him call in a strong cockney accent.

"You would think that we are royalty with the way he is behaving!" I muttered under my breathe. I cringed inwardly as I felt my fiancé, Richard, place his hand upon my knee, giving it a slight squeeze,

"Well we are. Sweetpea."

I rolled my eyes at his declaration. Then I noticed my Aunt Sarah glaring at me. I pursed my lips at her as I smoothed my skirt, deftly sweeping his lingering fingers from my leg, smiling sweetly at him, as I added,

"We don't have to announce it!"

"Of course we do! How else will the gutter rats know their place.!" My aunt tittered coquettishly.

( She actually tittered.)

It was unbecoming on a woman of her age.

Richard roared with a rumbucous laugh, slapping his knee, as if she had told some hilarious joke,

"Rightly so Ms Oakville, Rightly so!"

I tuned them out, pulling at the tight, decorated collar that chaffed at my neck. I despised it when they talked about the lower class, like they where nothing.

I didn't want to be here, confined in this contraption, wearing this constricting outfit.

As soon as my aunt and I had arrived in London, she had discarded most of my wardrobe, declaring it was too ethnic and not befitting of my status within polite society. Now it consisted of dresses and costumes she insisted where in Vogue that Spring.

I was currently wearing a two-piece dress suit. A tight, white, wrap around skirt hugged my hips and reached all the way down to to my heeled boots. It was inlaid with a slight red pinstripe, a matching double-breasted jacket with crimson velvet at the lapels and collar, A band, in the same colour, wrapped around, accentuating my tiny waist. A tie, knotted at my embodied collar, pinned in place by a prancing horse brooch. Topped off with a red, wide brimmed hat normally saved for the races, which took up most of the claustrophobic cabin.

I felt ridiculous.

She had reminded me that morning of my duties, as a soon to be wife. One of which was that my outfits should always compliment my husbands.

Being he was wearing a mixed light green and grey tweed suit, cream waistcoat, a brown bowler and russet, leather driving gloves, I had deliberately opted to wear the crimson and white ensemble.

She had chastised me at my choice but by then I was already dressed and it had been too late to change. I hadn't cared that we would clash.

My aunt, of course, was dressed accordingly in dark greens and deep browns, bedecked in jewels. She looked like a peacock. Right down to her thin, long neck and the huge feather in her hat.

(So much green)

My head swam.

I much preferred my flowing skirts and loose fitting tops. I wanted to be back home, in Catalonia, where my father would let me do as I pleased.

Where I could ride the vineyards in the rolling valleys with the blue skies above me.

Where I could be free!

Free from the suffocating propriety of so called High Society .

The car came to a holt, jerking me back to the reality of my situation.

Me, Miss Santana Elizabeth Lopez. Daughter of minor Don Miguel Lopez, fiancé of the famed Richard Hartley was about to board the RMS Titanic also called The Floating Palace.

To me it was a floating prison!

The door opened, the driver offering his hand, I took it in my own kid skinned clad one as I alighted quickly from the vehicle, wanting to escape from the stifling closeness of the cab. My head was screaming for me to run. Run! That this was my last chance!

My feet wouldn't move.

The smell of the salty sea air, mingled with the smell if thick and cooked meats wafted towards me in waves. I straightened myself, concentrating on the scene around me as I tried to ignore the churning in my stomach.

In front of me lay a long 4 storey building, made of red brick. White Star Liners painted in big letters above the entrance, over hung by a balcony that ran the length, packed with well-wishers. From it led a platform, which was attached to a gangplank, leading to the ship.

Dockworkers rushed about, grabbing burlap sacks from a bright green wagon. I could make out a multitude of different languages mixing in with the caw of the seagulls swooping overhead.

To my right, a car floated on a platform, swinging precariously past my line of vision, as it was loaded onboard by what looked to a complicated system of pulleys and ropes. A carefree man holding onto the car waved at me.

For the first time, I looked at the loathed ship.

A wave of nausea hit me.

"I don't see what all the fuss is about?" I croaked. "It doesn't look any bigger than the Mauritania."

"You can be blasé about some things Santana, but not about Titanic! It's a 100 feet longer than the Mauritania! Richard scoffed.

I went back to looking at the ship as I over heard my aunt asking,

"It is unsinkable?"

He could not help himself. It was as if he was a small boy excited to be at the fair,

"Unsinkable. God himself could not sink this ship!"

Titanic was enormous. It towered above me. Her sleek black sides where dotted with tiny portholes. She stretched in both directions as far as the eye could see. I craned my neck up so I could take in her height. Up above me I glimpsed little dots, I assumed they where people peering over the edge to look down on us.

(We must look like ants)

That is how I felt. Like an ant!

"Sir, Sir! Baggage is that way Sir!

I turned as Richard handed the White Star porter a handful of notes,

"I put my faith in you good sir! Now kindly see my man." He dismissed the stunned porter with a wave of his hand.

I noticed as the hulking form of Karofsky unfolded himself to his full height. He started pointing at an array of trunks, suitcases and boxes, barking,

"Cabin B. 52, 54, 56 "

That was my soon to be husbands answer to everything. Money and THAT brute.

"Come Ladies" I reluctantly took Richards offered arm.

As we approached the sturdy looking white gangplank that would take us aboard the ocean liner I saw a picket fenced area with a sign that read "Health Inspection"

Men dressed in deep blue uniforms with red and gold stripes at their wrists where combing through peoples hair and beards. A mother held up her young son, who stuck out his tongue so he could be inspected.

"What are they doing?" I asked, curious.

"Checking for lice."

"Why where we not inspected?"

He looked at me as if I was puerile, his tone condescending,

"My Dear, only paupers get lice!"

"I have heard that they are infested." My aunt threw over her shoulder as she swept past with pride.

I gripped the brown railing as I forced myself to put one foot in front of the other.

As we entered the doors of the ship a naval officer wityh stripes at his shoulder and an usher greeted us,

"Welcome to Titanic."

The entrance was grand. The walls where painted bright white. I could smell the freshness. The carpet looked plush. Inlayed with intricate patterns of green and gold that swirled beneath me. Huge potted plants that I could not name where set in deep russet pots set upon strong oak tables. An affluent woman was chatting to a portly well- heeled looking man with a huge moustache, an afghan hound and a pug curled at her feet. The portly man tipped his hat in our direction. Richard returned the gesture as we where asked,

"Ladies, May I show you to your cabin?"

I know it kinda reads like the movie but I had to get her on to the ship some how. So for that Im sorry ..

Any way please Read and Review .. Id really like some pointer or id be up foir listieing to ideas


	3. Chapter 3

A/N I know this is a shortie but I wanted to give you lovely readers a little bit of something. Im still trying to figure the story arc out. And im finding the next chapter a bit difficult to write. But here goes.

I don't have a beta at the moment so any grammatical errors and spelling mistakes are my own. I apologise. I am looking for a beta so if any one is interested drop me a line.

You can also get in contact at my handle. Tumblr . com

Hope u like it.

**Disclaimer: Do not own Glee Characters or Titanic. **

Chapter 3

Brittany's P.O.V

April_ 10th 1912. Southampton, England. _

I weaved my way through the throng of the people, packed like sardines on the road that led to the boarding dock, holding my valise above my head, so as not to knock anybody, twisting this way and that like a ballet dancer, my other hand clutching my golden ticket, vice like till my fingers ached.

I had spent my life treading the boards of numerous music halls and vaudevilles, growing up listening to the fervent whispers that filtered up into the eves from the lips of other star gazers.,

"In New York, they pick chorus girls and dancers from the street"

"Their troupes travel the country and are contracted for the whole year!"

"Their making pictures that move,"

Their reverie stealing into my sleep. Maybe there, with the moving pictures and their vision, they would give my choreography a chance. The world was changing and with it, the theatre. I had worked my way across Europe, each show, no matter how small, bringing me one-step closer to my dream. Passage to America.

I had bid a tearful goodbye to my theatrical friends, many of whom I had come to think of as family. My boarding house roommate Millie, who was like a sister to me, had assured me that the next time we met she would be Mrs Millie Petrov and that she would see me in a few months.

Carol, who in her career as a minor famed séance queen, had gone by the name of Madame Carmellota, had raised me as her own after my father passed away, had wailed that I was flying the nest to become a big star. She had never quite left the drama of her youth behind. She had fussed and fretted over me like a mother hen, warning me that as a girl travelling alone I was to be mindful whom I talked to and not be alone with any men as it was not the done thing. That had confused me, a little

The boarding houses and the theatres had been full of men but she had said that they where actors and performers and the right kind of people. She had finished by telling me to stay away from the rich gents, unless they where paying customers of course. We had laughed at our usual little joke.

Finally, I was on my way! …. And I was running late !

I could feel the electricity within the crowd. People bustled back and forth. Young people called to each other in jubilation, waving miniature Union Jack flags. I passed a mother, chaperoning her children, their tiny hands clutching at her skirts so as not to be separated. Parents tearfully kissed their grown sons goodbye. Some where I could hear a brass band booming. I passed a public house, catching the eye of a few men sat outside playing cards. They looked like dockworkers. One of them, a young man with a strange haircut and dark complexion, winked at me. I was pushed to the edge of the crowd, towards the building. I had always been told that for a girl I was quite tall, I stood on my tiptoes, but even with my added height, I found it difficult to see over the sea of heads, before me. Trying to figure where I should be, I jumped upon a wooden box, balancing myself against the wall. As I craned upwards, I heard a drawl,

"Hey pretty lady."

I looked down into the grey eyes of the card playing man with the strange haircut. It was close cut at the sides. A strip down the middle stuck up in all directions. It reminded me of the horses manes I had seen performing with the travelling circus in Prague.

He was wearing a collarless shirt and a brown threadbare jacket. He smiled at me wolfishly, not a care in the world. Wiggling his eyebrows.

"Hey." I replied.

"Fellow American?" He asked through clenched lips as he took a drag on his cigarette, watching me "You on the ship?"

"Yes." I nodded. "Steerage. Would you know where to go?"

He studied me, hooding his eyes as he blew smoke through his nostrils. He tossed the remnants of the cigarette on the ground, crushing it under foot. Before returning to his game he cavalierly added, "Not yet"

Seated at the table with him where three other men, two where blond and looked like they had not washed in weeks, a rather flustered look upon their faces. The fourth looked considerably younger, his features like a girl and skin that looked as smooth as the fancy cups the upper classes used for afternoon tea. His waistcoat was buttoned and spotless. At his collar, an expensive looking tiny scarf was tied in the same fashion as the rich men who bought the private boxes. In the middle, on the table lay a pile of coins, a penknife, silk handkerchief, a pocket watch and two Titanic tickets.

All four, stared at their cards intently. The smooth skinned youth placed down his cards, rolling his eyes, "Nothing!"

One of the blonde-haired people tossed his cards on the table with disgust as he spat "Nolla!"

The remaining two card players peered at each other owlishly. A small crowd had gathered, briefly forgetting the huge boat. The tension was thick in the air. The other blond lay down his cards, smiling with pride as he announced, "Two pair"

The horse boy shook his head, "Im sorry Kurt." He paused.

The blond card player went to claim his prize, the dark skinned boy touched his arm lightly "Your not gonna have a decent cup of tea for a long time!" jumping up, slamming the cards down, he yelled, "Full House boys!"

A deafening horn sounded, drowning out the cheer of the crowd and the argument of the blond men. Ramming a blue cloth cap onto his head, he snatched the tickets from the table.

The delicate boy scooped the winnings into his knapsack, looking at the pocket watch, "We've got 5 minutes!" he declared

The tanned man cursed, "Oh shit! Swinging his belongings over his shoulder he grabbed my hand, pulling me down from the box as he hollered "Come on blondie!" and began to make his way through the crowd, elbowing people out of the way.

I felt a small hand pushing me forward, at the small of my back. I looked quickly over my shoulder to see Kurt's face smiling up at me, impishly, flushed with excitement.

We nearly careened into a car, ducking to avoid a tied rope, I caught the shocked expression of the dockworker as we thundered past him up the gangplank he was about to reel in.

"Hey! Hey! Hold the door! We're passengers!" The card player roared as we approached the small metal door. He waved the tickets in the face of the man who was closing it. He was wearing a White Star naval uniform. "Have you been checked for lice?" he asked.

"We're American. We don't have lice. This is my wife and her brother. We're going home!" he gestured to Kurt and me.

The officer gave us the once over, a flicker of uncertainty passing over his features.

I held my breath. He checked our tickets, and then waved us through. I squealed with delight, kissing him lightly on the cheek as I rushed past,

"Thank you!"

We barrelled along the corridor, whooping and hollering. I jumped up and down with glee. I laughed as the bigger of the two caught me in a hug, swinging me round, "We're going to America blondie!"

We stopped to catch our breaths. Leaning against the wall, he wiped his hand on his trousers, offering it, "Noah Puckerman but my friends call me Puck."

I took it beaming, "Well Noah Puckerman but my friends call me Puck. I'm Brittany Susan Pierce but you can call me Brittany for short." I winked before turning to Kurt, "How do you do?"

He gave a small bow, taking my hand and bringing it barely to his lips, "I hope you do not mind my rather ill mannered friend? Kurt Hummel. It is nice to make your acquaintance, Miss Brittany."

In comparison to Pucks rough and calloused ones, Kurt's were soft, like a girls.

He offered his arm like a gentleman, sticking his nose in the air, he feigned an upper class English accent, "Come Miss Brittany. Our quarters await!"

I took it, he placed his other hand on top of mine. I noticed his nails where clean and clipped, slight rouge to his cheeks. With his immaculate appearance and stage hall behaviour, I could not help but wonder if he was a fellow actor and one of the 'right' kinds of people.

If Madame Carmellota where here, I hoped that she would agree.


	4. Chapter 4

Id just like to say a huge thankyou to everyone who followed or favourite and reviewed and to anyone else that is reading this. Your mails and messages where appreciated.

I don't have a beta at the moment so any grammatical errors and spelling mistakes are my own. I apologise. I am looking for a beta so if any one is interested drop me a line.

You can also get in contact at my handle. Tumblr . com

Hope u like it.

**Disclaimer: Do not own Glee Characters or Titanic. **

Chapter 4

Santana's P.O.V

_April 10th. RMS Titanic Deck B_

As soon as I entered the stately cabin that was to be my cell for the next seven days, I peeled myself out of the oppressive dress suit jacket, draping it across the back of a green and yellow upholstered lounge sofa. Flopping down into a small dining chair, I glanced around the room as I unbuttoned my sleeves, turning up the cuffs.

It was larger and more spacious than I had anticipated.

The brown, varnished walls where decorated in the style of the Georgian period,

polished to such a sheen that I could make out the reflection of the double breasted curtains at the small windows. Each panel housed a brass light fixture that swept up towards the ornate ceiling.

In the far corner there was a four-poster bed surrounded by a canopy. Hanging from it, a red velvet curtain that looked soft to the touch.

At the further most wall, an extensive mirror dominated a magnificent mahogany mantelpiece. It reminded me of a book I had once read called Through the Looking Glass. I wondered if I peered into it hard enough would I be able to see my own descent into madness.

"Santana" My aunt called, her voice like needles prickling at my spine.

I closed my eyes, taking my bottom lip between my teeth as I searched for the inner strength not to convey the contempt I felt. Poking my head through the door that led to the adjoining room I smoothly replied,

"Yes Aunt Sarah?"

She had positioned herself in the centre of the room, barking orders like a general at the black and white clad maids, who with military precision had begun the arduous task of unpacking our belongings.

"We must hurry. I promised Judy Fabray that we would take afternoon tea with herself and her daughter Quinn. You remember Quinn?"

(Quinn Fabray. How could I forget?)

In the past she had attempted to gain Richards affections. His introduction of me as his fiancé had caused her to despise me on sight. Behind closed doors she referred to me as the 'Gypsy Bride', within polite company, 'My dearest friend'.

Outwardly she appeared to be everything a well brought up lady ought to. She was anything but.

Amongst the servants, she was renowned for her cruelty and being a dab hand at poker.

(The skills of which one did not acquire within the soirees and cotillions of the affluent. )

In my opinion, she was rotten to the core, much like the juicy apple from the fairy tale of Snow White. Her falseness caused me to return the feeling in kind. Her mother I partly held responsible for my recent wardrobe overhaul.

Behind me a timid utterance, caused me to turn.

"Miss Santana, where shall I place your picture box?"

Rachel, my aunt Sarah's personal maid and the only one she had seen fit to bring along on our trip, struggled with my trunk. It dwarfed her child like frame.

"I'll take that. Midget!" I snapped peevishly.

Many years before,she had been my childhood companion. We had played hide and seek amongst the stables. I had sneaked her into my music lessons. She had sat beside me with belly ache from eating too many unripe grapes, until my Aunt had taken it upon herself to attend to my social education and had reminded my father that it would not do, for me to be seen playing with the help.

The tiny, dark skinned maid pretended to spy on me for my Aunt. I always appreciated that she never really did. The insults to perpetuate hatred to keep her unique position, from where she could report back to me, was a façade keeping our true affections hidden. She was my only ally on this god-forsaken ship.

"Would you like my help?"

"No. I do not want to risk your giant man hands damaging them !" I retorted, through a waning smile.

(Sometimes it was so exhausting)

As I took the chest from her, her finger fleetingly grazed my knuckle, our little way of signalling that we understood. I motioned, silently, to her hair; a dark wisp had escaped from beneath her starch white bonnet. Her hands flew to her head. Her brown eyes swivelling back and forth, much like a rabbit expecting a much-feared predator, as she fixed it.

If there was one thing we had both learned, it was that Sarah Oakville was a stickler for appearances.

Richard abruptly burst through the entrance of the cabin, preceded by two slender porters who endeavoured to wheel in his monstrous safe. Karofskys piggy eyes followed their every move as if he expected them to sprout wings and alight with the beast, as they disappeared into the other room.

"I do not understand why you insist upon lugging that thing every where we go?" I questioned.

"It's insurance. I wouldn't trust …" His answer lost as I concentrated on unpacking my many paintings and pictures. Art was one the few indulgences that I had been allowed to continue.

I studied the framed photograph I held. My mother, father and I smiled back at me. Even though my memories of her where hazy at best I still missed her sorely. I gently placed it upon the vanity table.

Leaving the rest to the maids I wandered out to the promenade. I had heard that there where only two, either side of the liner, affectionately referred to as the Millionaires Walk.

My soon to be husband had paid handsomely for the privilege of the 50 foot, Tudoresque, private ocean view.

I peeked over the side, pondering what it might feel like to plunge into the ocean far below, allowing the waves to engulf me. I imagined the silence and the eventual darkness as the last of the precious oxygen was pushed from my lungs as I sank into oblivion.

Snatches of conversation drifted over me,

"John Jacob Astor and his young wife….. Quite the scandal."

"Not there. You silly girl!"

"….Isldor… Richest man on the ship missed out to us."

I tried to drown it out as my Aunt prattled on. She grated.

"Santana! Come! We must change. It simply will not do to arrive to tea still in our travelling attire!"

(Not a moment's peace!)

I huffed out a breath I had not known I was holding before replying in irritation,

"I'm coming!"

Brittany's P.O.V

_April 10th RMS Titanic Deck F _

As we capered along the maze of corridors, I trailed my fingers along the enamelled walls. They where smooth and cold to the touch.

Ahead of us, Puck doffed his hat comically at numerous other voyagers, who either looked at us in confusion or returned the gesture with mirth as he announced,

"Make way! Make way! Lady coming through!"

(This is how royalty must feel)

"We're travelling like a couple of regular swells!" he called. .

Kurt, retaining the air of a gentleman, queried, "Where are you berthed Miss Brittany?"

I paused, trying to remember. I had been so many different places sometimes I forgot,

"I was born in Cincinnati.. You?" He blinked at me. His cute little nose twitched reminding me of the small roly poly squashed faced dogs from Paris.

"Ohio.. What I meant was, what's the cabin number on your ticket?"

"Oh!" Sometimes I made mistakes. "I don't know."

Kurt gave a small, shocked gasp, "Miss Brittany. Can you not read?"

I responded with a hint of pride in my voice,

"Of course! I learned my letters from the scripts of The Alhambra and my numbers on the knee of Mr Royston, the ticket taker." Dropping my valise, I pirouetted before tumbling into a cartwheel finishing with a stage show bow, bending from the waist at the perfect angle exactly how Madame Carmellota had taught me. I straightened my skirts as a red headed woman threw me a withering look muttering under her breath something about stage, skirts and harlot. I stuck my tongue out at her retreating.

"Ah, you're a performing urchin!" Kurt proclaimed, his two hands clasped beneath his chin.

I wrinkled my brow in confusion

"I'm not a mollusc!" Then I mused " But I do carry my home on my back so I can see how you might think I'm an urchin. But I cant swim so I don't think I would make a very good one.!"

He threw back his head and laughed. It sounded like wine glasses and dinner. Tinkly, like fairy music. He shook his head slightly.

"Oh Miss Brittany."

Disgruntled Puck reached for my ticket.

"She doesn't need to be able to read. What she needs is a map."

Kurt ignored him.

" Master Puckerman is currently learning his letters via yours truly" motioning to himself. He continued, "I never understood how someone can be so talented with a pencil and paper and still be unable to form his alphabet?"

"Shut up !" Puck snapped. He went back to inspecting my ticket and peering up at a diagram of the ships layout, stuck to the wall.

"You're an artist? " I asked.

He shrugged.

"No, not really. I mean I draw and I sometimes get paid, never enough to live on mind you. I mainly work odd jobs. Hence the haircut." He wiggled his eyebrows at me, making me giggle.

I made a mental note to ask him about his hair another time. That was a story I wanted to hear.

"And what about you, Kurt?"

The two exchanged a glance I could quite read. With a wave of his hand he breezed,

"Oh this and that."

"There. Got it! Follow me " Puck exclaimed before setting off back the way we came.

I retrieved my valise. Skipping to keep up as I didn't want to be left behind.

Each of the corridors looked the same to me, broken at intervals by small doors. Somewhere open allowing me to see into the cabins beyond. Small passages led off to the right and left to only God knows where. Sometimes I would catch a glimpse up small stairs blocked off by gates or railings. How did Puck know where he was going? Every corridor looked like the last ones twin, right down to the grain in the timber floorboards.

He stopped abruptly. Kurt and myself, ploughing into the back of him.

"Here we go! Cabin 23. Deck F!" He grinned his wolfish grin.

I took back my ticket, "Thank you for helping me. I never would have found it by myself." I went to push open the door.

"Sir! Sir! You cannot go in there. Ladies only!" Somebody trilled.

Puck and Kurt swivelled to be confronted by a rat faced looking man in a white uniform, his greasy hair slicked to the side.

Kurt eyed his appearance with disdain, one elbow resting in his hand he retorted,

"We weren't going in. Were where just escorting our friend to her cabin like true gentlemen. "

I felt a tingle of warmth spread through me at Kurt's words. They thought of me as their friend.

Not to be shook from his point the porter carried on.

"Well you still can't go in there. Men and women berth separately. You're supposed to be in the bow!"

Kurt rolled his eyes in exasperation, " Look can we not wait for her? I don't feel right leaving a lady unchaperoned."

I blushed. He had called me a lady.

"No! It's against White Star Policy. No loitering. If we don't stick to the rules it will be the end of society."

"That's just stupid!" I scoffed.

Puck dropped down to his knees in the middle of the corridor, fishing out a leather bound folder and a pencil from his bag. He sat on the floor, his fingers untying a frayed piece of string that kept the folder bound. Pulling out a piece of paper he began drawing furiously. His pink tongue poking out the side of his mouth as he concentrated. The porter looked at Puck as if he had sprouted horns.

"Sirs!"

"Give me a second!" Puck demanded.

To give him time to complete what ever it was he was doing. I asked the porter,

"If the men and women have to birth separately, how come I saw men and women together in cabins further down? "

He sniffed, "They are the family cabins."

Puck straightened himself up, handing the piece of paper and pencil to Kurt who also began to scribble on it.

"Here we go!" He handed the piece of paper to me.

On it was two little maps. One showed the ship from a birds eye view. Written on it in Kurt's neat hand writing as BOW, STERN, PORT and STAR BOARD. The other was from the side. Each deck marked with a small letter. He had also placed four little X's . Puck began to explain,

"This one here. " Pointing with his chewed finger to one of the X's , "That's your cabin. This is ours." Gesturing to another X that looked like it was at the other end of the ship. Kurt had written the number down in the bottom left hand corner. In the middle of the map was a big dark X.

"What is that one?" I asked

"That's the most important one. FOOD! And the other is where your gonna meet us in half an hour.

"But the corridors are so confusing!" I wailed.

"Sirs I'm going to have to ask you to move!"

"Alright! Calm down. We're going!" .He gave me an apologetic look. You will be ok. Just follow the map. Half an hour in that spot, ok Blondie."

Kurt bowed slightly, "Miss Brittany."

I watched them go as the porter followed them with his mean eyes.

"Arsehole!" I heard Puck yell.

The porter's eyes went wide. "What did you just say?"

"You heard me!"

"You can't talk to me like that!" The porter gave chase. I laughed as the two boys broke into a gallop, disappearing round a corner.

I entered my cabin. It was warm and sparsely furnished. It contained two bunk beds, a small sink with one tap and a bedpan set in wood so as not to fall. The room was lit by a single bulb over head and a small porthole.

It didn't seem like my bunk mates had arrived yet. I decided with my height it would be easier for me to take a top one. I pressed the mattress. It was softer than I had expected. Compared to some of the places I had slept, this was pure luxury. I puffed my pillow and unfurled the blanket, to make my bed.

Taking a moment, I peeked out of the porthole. All I could see was blue for miles.

I dumped my valise on my bunk. Opening it, I took out a small cracked mirror, a light jacket, a comb, a piece of soap, a cap, a small towel, a shirt and a pair of trousers that cut off just above the ankle. I used them to practise my dancing in. I felt for the hidden pocket and felt the weight of the few small coins Millie had pressed into my hand before I left.

Now I had chance I could not wait to change out of my travel dirty clothes. I hardly ever wore dresses preferring the comfort and freedom of movement trousers awarded me. I always found that dresses where cumbersome or just plain got in the way, but I had been told that the Titanic was a classy ship and I had to make an impression. Now I was aboard I didn't care what anyone thought of me. I would wash my dress later so that it would be clean for my arrival in New York.

I changed quickly. Washed my hands and face at the basin. Balancing my mirror, I fixed my hair into a loose braid. pulling it over my shoulder. I grabbed my light jacket, stuffing the cap into the pocket then picked up the map Puck had made for me. I gave one last glance round the room before I headed out of the door.

If I were to meet my new friends on time, I would have to hurry. I did not want to keep them waiting and no doubt, I would get lost.

Hope you liked it guys. Im still trying to flesh out Brittany's character… I hope you like Puck

Next chapter we get to meet the much anticipated Quinn Fabray !


	5. Chapter 5

Id just like to say a huge thankyou to everyone who followed or favourite and reviewed and to anyone else that is reading this. Your mails and messages where appreciated.

I don't have a beta at the moment so any grammatical errors and spelling mistakes are my own. I apologise. I am looking for a beta so if any one is interested drop me a line.

You can also get in contact at my handle. Tumblr . com

Hope u like it.

**Disclaimer: Do not own Glee Characters or Titanic. **

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Chapter 5

**Brittany P.O.V **

_April 10th Top Deck Bow. _

I blinked in the blinding sunlight as I pushed open the door to what I hoped, according to Pucks map, led to the bow. I was flustered from the slight panic that my two new friends had tired of waiting for me. I was always late no matter where I went. I had lost my way a few times, taking stairs that led to locked gates and railings, forcing me to retrace my steps.

I looked around wildly. I could hear whooping and dog like howls followed by a scolding "Puck!" carried on the wind. I spotted the both of them, up ahead. They where at the very tip of the ship.

I relaxed, skipping along the deck past numerous others passengers that where dotted here as I made my way towards them.

"Kurt! Puck!" I waved. Kurt did not recognise me at first,

"Miss Brittany! Glad you could join us." He eyed my outfit critically adding, "What on earth are you wearing?"

"What? My dress was dirty and this is the only other outfit I own and it's comfortable."

Puck greeted me with a grin,

"Hey blondie pay no attention, he's a clothes snob."

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are? Remember Paris?"

Kurt rolled his eyes and stuck his nose in the air as he replied,

"Shut up!"

I stifled a giggle at their bickering. Puck turned back to me.

"I was just saying that we might have to send a search party out for you."

"I did get lost a few times, but thanks to your map I made it."

His grin broadened into a huge smile, full of pride,

"C'mere, I want to show you something." He pulled me onto the prow. "Now pop your beautiful self up there." He motioned to the railings in front of me. I gripped the top one fiercely in my hands, placing my feet either side, a few rungs below. I rose myself shakily.

"Puck!" Kurt warned.

"It's ok. I'm hardly going to let something this precious fall into the sea!"

I blushed. I had been called a lot of things in my time but never precious.

"Charmer" Kurt quipped.

I felt his strong hands take me at my waist, holding me firm. He asked,

"Do you trust me?"

I nodded.

"Now let go." He instructed. I glanced unsure into his grey orbs. "It's ok. I got you blondie."

I shakily raised my arms, outstretched as Puck steadied me. I closed my eyes. The wind hit me full force. I could taste and smell the salt. Feel the light mist of the spray upon my skin. I imagined my arms as wings, the wind beneath them carrying me away far. I gingerly opened my eyes, daring myself to look.

There was nothing but wide-open space, as far as the eye could see. Before me, the deep green of the ocean and the bright blue of the sky merged upon the horizon.

"Kurt. Puck!" I exclaimed " I can see the Statue of Liberty already!"

They both broke into gales of laughter at my whimsy. Puck carefully lowered me back down.

"What shall we do now?" I asked.

"You can help me teach Noah his letters, if you would like?" Kurt, rolled the vowels of the word Noah on his tongue.

I clapped my hands together. "Yey! I'd love to."

"Now?" Puck grumbled

"Now is a better time than any. Besides I want to see if you remember our last lesson or whether you lost your brains when you gained that dead rodent on your head."

"Hey. That wasn't my fault!" Puck replied, indignantly.

"Yeah I'm sure it wasn't ."

Puck shoved the smaller boy playfully as they began to make their way back up the deck, continuing to tease each other like brothers. With these two, I was defiantly going to have a lot of fun on this trip.

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**Santana P.O.V **

_April 10th Café Parisian. _

It had been decided via a complicated network of messages passed along by our servants that we were to meet Judy Fabray, her insufferable daughter, Quinn and numerous other guests for a light luncheon in the A la Carte restaurant Café Parisian located on the starboard side of deck A.

My Aunt Sarah fussed and fretted at the red sash at my waist.

"Santana it is very important that we make a good impression. We are about to be introduced to a potential suitor of Quinn's. He is an oil tycoon and by all accounts is very handsome but mainly, he is very rich. Maybe more than Richard..."

I rolled my eys and sighed. One more thing for Quinn Fabray to lord over me.

She continued,

"Please can you not make more of an effort to be civil? When she gets married, she shall want nothing but the best and your father's Catalonian cava is the best. Your friendship with Quinn can help secure that she chooses your fathers vintage."

The thought of me and Quinn Fabray being mistaken for friends amused me.

"The Fabrays are very influential in American society and it will help your future husband when he finally takes over the business if the Catalonian name is already established. Do you not wish for your father and Richard to do well?"

At the mention of my father, I was flooded with guilt. I should be doing more in order to help him. Over the last two years, due to random attacks on our vine yards in Spain and California, our yield in crops had declined.. In the future, it would cut dramatically the amount of bottles we could produce. My father's health had suffered due to the stress of it all.

"I will try. For my father."

She squeezed my cheeks gently,

"Good girl."

Two doorman bowed to us as we entered the rotating teak door, depositing us into the bright light of the café and the next few hours of what, I had no doubt, would be sheer unadulterated hell.

Almost immediately, I heard the brittle, hollow voice of one Quinn Fabray,

"Santana. My dearest friend!" She rushed towards me.

Her blond hair bounced in her feigned excitement. I bristled as she lightly touched my arm, air kissing my cheeks with a small smile that did not quite reach her cobalt eyes.

"Quinnie, how I have missed you!" I gushed, using the pet name I knew she loathed. I returned the gesture to play along in our charade.

"You must meet our guests."

She took my hand, leading me to a small wicker table at the centre of the room. Everybody apart from Richard rose at our arrival.

"This is Santana Lopez. The daughter of Don Lopez, the wine merchant and soon to be wife of our very own Mr Hartley."

I caught the snide way in which she tried to humiliate me by leaving out the Miss and accentuating the words 'wine merchant'.

"Is Don not a title given to minor Spanish royals?" asked a heavy French accent.

"Si." I replied

Quinn brushed off my small victory

"Madame moiselle Amelie Du Pont."

The French girl inclined her head, as if to give a small curtsy. She was dressed in black velvet, embroidered with more black at the shoulders and cuffs of the long arms of her dress. Her hair was short and wavy, her nose long. Along with her tall stature and slender frame, she reminded me of a crow about to take off.

"Ah so we are in the company of royalty." I heard a Texan drawl. "Samuel Evans, Miss Lopez can I say you look simply iridescent. Richard had told me that you where an exotic beauty but his words did not do you justice."

Before me was a young man with bright blond hair. The navy three-piece suit he wore set off his deep blue eyes. He was handsome but his lips, I was transfixed, they where huge. An image of a fish flashed across my mind.

(Trout)

Samuel Evans had a Trouty Mouth!

Quinn dropped my hand at his comment as she proceeded to introduce my aunt and I to the rest of the people gathered at the table.

As we seated ourselves in the low backed, soft wicker chairs, I took a moment to observe all around me.

The sunlight veranda was tastefully decorated in French trellis work that rose into archways occupied by creeping vines. The large picture windows afforded a view of the sea beyond. Soft light crept in, the rays playing with the wisps of smoke that hung in the air. At the centre of the table stood a vase filled with daffodils. The white fine bone china plates and cups where decorated at the rim with a golden intricate floral pattern. White coated waiters attended to the other guests around me. The whole atmosphere was very much like what I had experienced in the cafes of Paris.

"I must admit this restaurant is quite aptly named." I said as I reached for the menu.

"Oui. It is very much like home." Amelie agreed. "It is the first time on a British ship, non?" She asked absently, her English slightly broken.

Sam immediately came to life, not noticing the light touches Quinn was placing along his sleeve.

"The ship is genius! It has a heated swimming pool. A racquet court. Shops. It even has a gym with a mechanical camel and a horse!"

Quinn spoke.

"Santana? Spanish women are quite adept at riding, are they not ? Adding innocently. "Horses, I mean".

Amelie sniggered.

She had just insinuated in polite company that I was a whore. Neither Richard or my aunt jumped to my defence, I wanted to lean over and punch that harpy in her little, pretty, china doll face. I clamped my mouth shut as I caught my aunt's glare. I thought of my father. Hiding my rage, I forced a tight smile across my lips.

Sensing the tension Judy trilled,

"Who would have need of a gym? All that exertion is quite unlady like is it not Sarah?"

My Aunts voice rose in agreement,

"All one needs is a brisk walk to take the air."

(Finally she speaks)

Quinn and I eyeballed each other slyly over the tops of our menus.

(Touche Miss Fabray. Touche)

Sam, oblivious to what had transpired, continued,

"Miss Lopez it is a pleasure to meet a fellow equestrian enthusiast. You must visit the ranch some time. We have a string of Quarter horses."

"I would be delighted to, Mr Evans. But I have always been quite partial to Arabians myself."

Another snicker reached me from across the table. I was about to show Quinn exactly what a Latina woman was capable of when a waiter appeared.

"Are you ready to order Miss?"

"The salmon would be perfect. Thank you." I forced through my gritted teeth.

Quinn and Amelie continued to smirk at me. I reached into my purse, retrieving a slim cigarette holder and silver cigarette box. I had to do something to distract myself from the vision I had of me tearing Quinn over the table by the hair of her head and brawling in the middle of the café, like a couple of drunken sailors on payday.

I raised it to my lips. Lighting the cigarette I allowed the smoke to fill my lungs, calming me. Quinn and Judy looked at me in disgust.

(Let them)

My Aunt leant forward a little,

"You know I don't like that Santana."

In defiance, I blew the smoke in her direction.

"She knows." Richard plucked it from the holder, quenching it in the ashtray.

I caught Quinn's smug smirk once more. She returned to her conversation.

"I was saying to the Marquis."

My ears pricked up. I knew how to wipe it from her face. Quinn liked to be subtle preferring to wrap her barbs in words of sweetness. I however did not!

"Is that the same Marquis that wrote that book you seemed to thoroughly enjoy? My voice coated in sugar. "What was his name? Oh yes, the Marquis De Sade!"

Judy gasped

Quinn turned crimson

Amelie and numerous other guests shook with barely contained laughter.

Sam asked, "Who is the Marquis de Sade? Is he any good?"

I took it as cue to leave and excused myself.

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**Brittany P.O.V **

_April 10th Mid Top Deck_

All three of us languished on the deck trying to enjoy the weak heat from the suns rays. Kurt had been trying to teach Puck his alphabet for the last 30 minutes by using drawings.

It was quite an in genius system.

He had laid them out along the deck. To prevent them from blowing away he had weighed them down with anything he could find, including our shoes. He had even gained a tiny audience in the form of a few small children, whose parents, at the start had watched warily from a small distance before relaxing once they realised we weren't going to eat them.

They sat in a group, legs crossed; hanging on Kurt's every word. Puck in the middle towered over them like a giant. Kurt had demanded it for calling him a clothes snob. It had to be the cutest thing I had ever seen.

"Now what letter of the alphabet this?" He asked, holding up a folded piece of paper with a large A on it.

A seas of chubby hands rose. One small boy with a shock of red hair showed so much enthusiasm looked like he was about to take off.

"Me! Me! Mister! Pick me!"

"What's your name?"

The ginger boy looked back at Kurt bashfully. "It's John Mister!"

"Ok John. Can you tell me what it is?"

"It's an A Mister"

"Absolutely correct John, Every body clap for John."

John jumped up, doing a little stage show bow that I had shown him earlier as every one else clapped.

Kurt continued, unfolding the paper to reveal a drawing on the other half. Written underneath was the word Apple.

"Now can every one tell me what this is?"

There was a chorus of little voices mixed in with Pucks deep one.

"Apple!"

"Using the drawings and the letters that we have do you think we can help Mister Puck spell Apple?"

There was a big cheer and a flurry of activity as loads of tiny little hands and feet scrabbled to help. Puck sat with a piece of paper and a pencil in his hand with the look of murder on his face.

I closed my eyes, letting the steady rocking motion of the boat carry me.

I must of dozed off because when I opened my eyes the children where gone, leaving just me, Kurt and Puck. A handful of people where milling about. Some were on the benches. Two teenage boys kicked a ball to one another.

The space would be amazing for dancing I thought. To our left I could see people dressed in finery, seated at tables. Curiosity got the better of me,

"What is up there?"

"That, Miss Brittany is First Class. I used to be up there. I can assure you, you do not want to go up there."

"How come?" I asked.

"They think we're bad for maybe getting drunk on payday. Or for being unable to repay our debts. They however are much worse!" His pretty features darkened as he spat. "They play with peoples lives."

Without another word, he got up and stormed down the deck. I was about to go after him when the most stunning girl I had ever laid eyes upon appeared, walking along the upper deck. She carried herself with the grace and poise of a ballerina. Her steps looked light. She stood at the railing, staring out far and away, lost in thought. Her off the shoulder light green and white dress shimmered in the late afternoon light.

She glanced in our direction.

I was drawn to her. From where I was sat I could make out her skin was tanned and her dark hair cascaded down her back. She looked like she belonged in the fabled stories of Arabian Nights.

I wondered who she was. Were she was from. Puck tapped me on my chin.

"You'll catch flies!" He chuckled.

I had not realised my mouth was hanging open.

She looked back, this time holding my gaze. My mouth went dry. I tried to swallow. I couldn't.

I watched as a tall, dark haired man in a suit approached her, reaching for her elbow. They had a heated conversation before she tore herself from his grasp and disappeared the same way she came.

She was gone.

I realised Puck was speaking to me.

"What? Sorry?"

"I said you like girls?"

"Yes. Er No. "I stuttered, caught off guard. " I think you love who you love."

"Whoa blondie, breath, It makes no mind to me. I think if you find it you take it."

I deflected, "What did Kurt mean when he said they play with people's lives?"

He began to pick up the drawings, "They treat people like dirt"

I looked at him, "I don't understand?"

He tossed me my shoes.

"Have you ever heard one of your stage show girls having their heads turned by a rich fellow, selling her the moon and stars just so he can diddle her?"

I nodded. I had heard it happen a few times. It was the main reason Millie and Madame Carmellota had warned me away from rich men.

He continued matter a factly,

"Well. That's what happened to Kurt."

"A lady?" I had never heard of it being the other way round.

He shook his head.

"No Brittany. He was a gentlemen's companion. I don't know exactly what went on but when the bastards had had their sport with him they left him for dead in the gutter. That's when I found him."

I sat in silence as I allowed what Puck had told me to sink in.

"Just don't tell him I told you. He's still a bit touchy over it."

He began to put the wad of paper into his satchel.

"How could they? I mean."

"I don't know but what I do know is there is some cruel and twisted folk in the world. And its mainly them." He pointed to the upper deck where I had seen the Gypsy princess. "You'd do well to steer clear. "

He offered his arm,

"Come on. Let us find him, then the food deck. I'm starving."

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**Well I hope u like this guys The next chapter the girls shall finally meet R&R Let me know if u like the way its going. I know im sticking to the scenes of the movie. but not the script **

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	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

**Santana P.O.V**

_April 10th RMS Titanic 1st Class Dining Hall _

I fiddled idly with my fork as I tried to put a name to the piece of music the band was attempting to play. Some where from the far corner, the sound of breaking glass followed by a resounding cheer from a group of revellers drifted towards me.

"Quite ill mannered." I heard someone nearby chastise.

I cast my eyes over my dining companions. Richard was in deep conversation with Russell Fabray, who looked ruddy faced from partaking in a little too much champagne. His wife Judy and my aunt passed pleasantries. Both looked as if they needed to pass water. As Sam attempted an awful impression of President Taft, Quinn and her brainless companions tittered. The sound cut through me like nails on a chalkboard.

(Could he not see that she was mainly laughing at his guppy, over sized mouth?)

The portly gentleman and his horse faced wife that we had greeted when we had boarded, I hadn't bothered to learn their names, guffawed and brayed beside me at some comment. I looked down; her squashed faced pug looked up at me dolefully.

(You and Me both!)

"Oh the stationers made an awful mess of the invitations. We had to send them back. Twice! Can you believe? I assure you we shall not be using them for the wedding!"

At the mention of my impede ding engagement a realisation hit me.

Is this what my life would be? The same tedious conversations? The same narrow minded people.

I looked around wildly. My eyes landing on a young girl in a stiff looking miniature ball gown, slouching in her chair, with look of sheer boredom upon her face. Her mother scolded her. She immediately sat upright, copying her mother as she placed a napkin upon her own lap, her gloved pinkies sticking out in correctness.

(This was my future!)

The walls began to close in. My mouth became dry. Grabbing a glass of water, I drank it greedily. The mixture of titters, brays and guffaws becoming louder and louder as I imagined the endless spirals of cotillions and balls. The faces around me became a blur. My throat closed as the floor lurched up to meet me.

(I cannot do this!)

(I have to get out!)

(Is there a way?)

My eyes began to prick as the despair within threatened to engulf me. My mind whispered.

(There is one!)

(The silence.)

(The endless dark.)

(The waves!)

My chair scrapped against the floor as I pushed back from the table.

"Miss Santana?" I heard Sam's Texan drawl "Are you well?"

"I just need air." I chocked.

"Would you like me to escort you?" He went to rise, unlike my so-called fiancé.

"No thank you Sam. I just need a moment."

I heard Quinn's smug remark,

"Sea sickness, probably. I can't imagine she gets to travel by boat very often, being surrounded by dirt and vineyards all the time."

Ignoring her I mustered as much composure as I could, walking away from it all!

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**Brittany P.O.V **

_April 10th. RMS Titanic. Top Deck, Stern_

After the day that I had had and hearing Kurt's story, I needed to clear my head. After seeing how over crowded the 3rd Class Dining hall was at the first sitting of evening dinner, I had decided that during the second sitting would be the perfect time to take full advantage of what would be a very empty deck indeed. Both Puck and Kurt had understood that I needed some space and had kindly promised to sneak me some food from the dinner hall, reasoning that as a paying White Star passenger I was entitled to it anyways so it wasn't stealing it was just frowned upon to eat in your cabin. The both of them had been too kind all day. I knew that I had been very lucky to find them.

I slipped myself out of my flat shoes, wrapping them in my jacket I placed them on the bench. I gingerly stepped along the deck, my toes feeling the slight ridges within the timber. I shivered in the cool, crisp air. Rising on my tiptoes I stretched my arms over my head, reaching up, fingers splayed as I tried to touch the stars that dotted the clear, beautiful night sky above me. Taking hold of the back of the bench, I stretched my legs.

It had been too long!.

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**Santana P.O.V **

_April 10th RMS Titanic Top Deck _

As soon as I exited onto the deck, I broke into a run. Paying no attention to the stupefied shouts of the people, I shoved carelessly out of my way. I struggled for oxygen as I tried to push back the sobs that where threatening to erupt form my chest.

The heel of my boots clacked in time with the taunting words in my head.

(Get away!)

(The Waves)

(Get away)

(The waves)

I clattered through a gate. Scrabbling for the handrail as I almost lost my footing on the slippery stairs. My eyes swam with hot tears as I cursed my ridiculous heels. I continued to run blindly, one foot in front of the other, carrying me closer and closer to my destination.

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**Brittany P.O.V **

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April 10th RMS Titanic Top Deck Stern

Shaking out my whole body, I snapped my head and rolled my shoulders to loosen out my muscles. .Pointing my toes, I took a few small steps. I closed my eyes as I tried to remember the heavy bass I had once heard plucked out by a musician on oboe. It had called to my very bones.

I swung my arms round, swooping down so my head very nearly touched the deck, the weight of my body carried by the momentum, lifting my left leg straight up into the night sky. I briefly thought of Puck.

Suddenly the music was all around me. It was all I could hear. I was no longer on a ship, far out in the deep ocean, miles away from everything I had ever known. I was a nymph frolicking upon a lakes edge. I straightened myself, arms in front of me as I pirouetted, faster and faster. The tempo of my own music moved me.

I was a deer, galloping along the forest floor. I leapt in order to clear an imagined log in my path, jack knifing my legs. Airborne I stretched upwards, savouring the freedom. I landed neatly, throwing myself into another spin. I felt myself bang into something solid.

I heard a small oof as I was propelled into reality and onto the hardness of the deck

A girl's voice screamed at me,

"Watch where you're going! Are you blind?"

"No I'm a dancer. I'm sorry!" I apologised

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**Santana P.O.V **

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April 10th RMS Titanic. Top Deck . Stern

I flew backwards, my boots catching the back of my dress causing me to fall flat on my buttocks as I collided with something. My hands, breaking my fall, jarred against the rough timber, sending a shooting pain up my along my wrist. Rage filled me.

"Watch where you're going! Are you blind?" I screamed as I wiped my swollen eyes with the back of my hand so I could see the oaf that had got in my way and give them a piece of my mind.

"No I'm a dancer. I'm sorry!" came a strange, soft and defiantly feminine reply.

I froze.

Before me was a girl. Her bare feet and ankles poked out from a pair of brown trousers way too short for her long legs. A collarless shirt clung to her lithe frame. My eyes travelled upwards to a mass of long blonde hair surrounding a scarf that had fallen askew, obscuring the top of her face.

Taking in her masculine attire, I spurred myself to action.

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Brittany P.O.V 

I scrambled to my feet. I pulled down the scarf that had fallen over my face to see a mass of dark curls as the girl spun round and round, like a dog chasing its tail as she attempted to fix her dress. The sash at her waist had gotten caught in her boots. I went to help her. She slapped away my hands angrily.

"Don't touch me!" She hissed.

I recoiled. She fixed her hair so I could finally see her face. I gasped. It was the 'Gypsy Princess' From afar, she had been beautiful up close she was breath taking.

She was smaller than I imagined. I stood a full head taller than she did. Her skin was caramel. Her eyes huge and dark, like deep pools. Her cheekbones perfect. Her red lips where plump and full. She attempted to spit out a strand of hair that had stuck to them. She looked like she had been crying.

Someone that beautiful should never be made cry. I had the over whelming urge to pull her into a hug and make what ever it was go away. I stopped myself.

"I'm so clumsy. I am so stupid. I'm sorry!" I gushed, the words flying from my lips before I could stop them.

"So you should be!" She snapped.

I wanted to right what had happened. I could not bare the thought of her being annoyed at me or that I was the cause of any hurt to her. I attentively asked,

"Are you hurt?"

"No I'm fine." She mumbled, her anger disappearing as she looked back at me. She attempted to smooth her hair again; she winced, suddenly finding an interest in her palm. Her eyebrows pinched together as she shook it.

"You don't look fine." I reproached.

Ignoring me she stalked past, her head bowed as began to rub at her hand, I caught snatches of what I thought was Spanish as she muttered to herself. She plopped herself down on my bench. I sat beside her. She shuffled away from me, looking at me sideways through her long dark lashes, returning to rubbing her palm.

"Here, let me." I went to take her hand. She snatched it back, holding it to her chest, protectively. She eyed me suspiciously.

"What do you think you are doing?" She asked.

Her voice was how I imagined whiskey and chocolate to sound. Rich, smooth and slightly raspy.

"We have to get the splinter out silly."

Picking at it would only drive it deeper. I had a lot of experience with them over the years from playing in the rafters. Madame Carmellota either picked them out with a pin or sucked them out. I didn't have a pin so there was only one thing for it.

"I'm not going to hurt you. You have to suck them out. I am good at it. I get them all the time." I explained.

She cautiously held it out to me. I took it slowly so as not to frighten her, noticing the difference between her tanned skin against the pale of my own. She quivered slightly as I explored her palm with the tips of my fingers. They were soft apart from a small callous at her thumb. I ducked my head to hide the embarrassment at the roughness of my own that she could surely feel.

Raising it to my lips, I caught at hint of lavender. I delicately swept my tongue along the flesh of her palm until I could feel the solid edge of the offending splinter. I gripped it gently with my teeth. There was nothing but silence as I worked it out. Her breath hitched. I looked up at her. Her eyes wide, she looked like a deer about to bolt. Finally, I had it.

"There! Got It!" I picked it from between my teeth and before I could stop myself, I placed a quick kiss to her palm. "All better."

She quickly took her hand back, her voice strangled as she chastised me,

"That was highly inappropriate."

Once again, I rushed to explain so she would not take offence at my impulsive behaviour,

"You look sad and Madame Carmellota always told me a kiss makes everything better."

As I stared out across the sky, I could feel her eyes on me. I fidgeted beneath her scrutiny. She broke the silence,

"What are you doing out here? Dressed like that?"

Taking in her pretty but light looking dinner dress and her noticeably dishevelled hair,

"In all due respect Miss, I could ask you the same question." I cursed myself internally. Millie had always said I did not have a filter.

"You can't talk to me like that!" She declared.

"Well how am I to talk to you?" I quipped.

"Do you always answer a question with a question?"

"Do you?" I pinched my arm. What was it about this girl that made me want to challenge her? I was normally so quiet. Pursing her lips, she stamped her foot,

"Oh my God. You're so annoying!" She straightened her back and regained her air of self importance,

"I'm first class. I can go where I please!"

"Well this is the only place I can dance!" I replied, defensively.

She glanced around, surveying the deck. I realised that we where completely alone.

"Dance! Don't be ridiculous. There isn't any music." She looked at me as if I belonged in a sanatorium. Did she not know that all you needed was your imagination? If you could imagine it, you could be anywhere. I had to make her understand.

"I don't need a band." I tapped the side of my skull. "I have the music in my head"

She seemed to contemplate my answer before she asked,

"So what are you? You're too tall to be a ballerina."

It was true, but I had been taught some of the movements by the kind dancing troupes I had encountered over the years.

"Not really. I am usually a chorus girl."

In a bout of playfulness, she made little kicking motions with her fingers. Her face lit up, her lips parted to reveal small perfect teeth as she laughed,

"Isn't that all kicking up your legs and flashing your undergarments?"

It was like music to my ears. Something crept through me gripping my very heart. I needed to hear that wondrous sound again. I needed to see that brightness with in her. If only I could make her laugh one more time.

I knew that most of the upper classes thought of us performers as nothing more than whores and charlatans. I took a gamble,

"Only if you pay enough, privately."

Mr Royston would have been proud of my delivery. She paused, a look of alarm sweeping across her exquisite face. Her lips formed a perfect 'O'. I struggled to contain my mirth. She caught my expression. Throwing back her head, her tiny frame shook as a deep, throaty laugh escaped her.

I joined in. I felt like my cheeks where being pulled up against my will. It almost hurt, but the good kind.

"I thought for a moment." She chuckled.

"Your face was a picture, I'm Brittany S Pierce."

"I'm Santana Lopez."

Santana.. It sounded exotic. Exactly like the far away Princesses, of Arabian Nights.

She composed herself. A haunted look returned to her eyes. Once more, I felt something tugging at my heart. I did not know her well enough to ask as to why she had been crying or racing along the deck in nothing more than her flimsy dress in the late evening, without a dress jacket. What I did know was nobody that beautiful should ever be that sad.

She moved a little closer to me, shivering in the brisk sea breeze.

I did not want her to leave. I offered her my jacket. Her fingers brushed mine as she took it. A fire spread through me.

"Are you not cold?" she asked, quietly.

I shook my head unable to speak as the words she's staying rushed through my head. She shrugged herself into it. The sleeves where a little too long and covered her hands. I went to draw her hair from out of the collar where it lay caught. She stiffened slightly then inclined her neck allowing me to remove it. It was smooth like silk, slipping through my fingers. I did not want to let it go.

"So you're a dancer?" She squeaked.

I jumped up to hide my brashness,

"Come on. I will show you. Dancing always cheers me up."

She plucked nervously at her dress, as if she could not decide. Making up her mind, she rose slowly. We wandered a little way from the bench. Pulling back the sleeves I took her hand in mine, placing my other at the small of her back. For the second time that evening, I caused her to stiffen.

"Its ok." I reassured her. "We have to get a little closer."

She hesitantly stepped forward placing her other hand on my shoulder.

"Now just imagine you're in one of your fancy ballrooms and try to step where I step."

Humming a tune, I began to spin and twirl. She followed me, anticipating my every move perfectly, as we cavorted, round and round. I threw her out and pulled her back in. She fell flush against me. I looked down into her deep chocolate eyes. I could feel her breasts poking through her brassiere against my own. The muscles in her back rippled beneath my fingers as I spun her in my arms. We stopped. Our breath ragged. My heart was thundering in my chest. I was sure she could feel it. Our noses, inches from each other. I drank in her features.

Her full plump lips parted.

Her body slowly reached up. Moving against my own.

"So beautiful." I breathed.

She blinked suddenly, springing from my grasp as if my touch and words had burned her.

"I'm sorry. I have to go." She stuttered. Turning on her heels, she ran.

I stood, stunned, rooted to the spot as I watched her flee. I had not meant to scare her.

"Hey wait! My jacket!" I called after her. She did not turn. Maybe she hadn't heard me?

I cursed myself. How could I have been so stupid?

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**Santana P.O.V **

Once more, my feet hurried along the deck. I thought I heard her call after me. As soon as I made it round the corner and out of site, I steadied myself, one hand on the wall, the other at my lower stomach, trying to calm the heat and throb that pooled there.

My heart hammered in my chest as I gulped for air.

(What was wrong with me?)

I replayed the whole surreal scenario in my head,.

How she had apologised profusely. How my Latin temper had died at her angelic face. Her melodious voice full of concern at the sadness within a stranger she did not know.

I flushed as I remembered the tingling sensation that filled my body, as she pressed her soft, pink lips against my palm. The jolt of electricity as her fingers grazed the skin of my neck.

The way her eyes crinkled and the dusting of freckles danced across her nose as she laughed and joked with me.

How I had suppressed a giggle at her silliness as she had begun to Hurmpf Hurmpf out a tune.

I had lost myself in her movements. I had allowed her to guide me. Feeling safety and comfort as she held me in her strong embrace, forgetting my woes.

The heat that had shot to my very core, causing me to stop dancing as I felt her taut muscles beneath my fingertips with nothing but a flimsy layer of cotton between them. Our bosoms had heaved in unison.

Her blond hair like spun gold. The yellow flecks in her azure orbs, like stars reflecting the light dotted above us as they pierced into my very soul, the dampness of her breath upon my cheek. Her slightly parted, inviting lips had looked like Turkish delight. She had looked like she was about to kiss me.

I had wanted her to!

I could still smell the vanilla that had emanated from her creamy skin. It was all around me. It was intoxicating. She was like angel. By just being, she had stopped me from acting on my previous plan. Filling me with warmth and a flicker of light were once before there had been nothing but cold and dark

I shook my head. She had caused this.

(She dances on the silence)

These feelings. Moreover, for a complete stranger, not for my fiancé.

(She lights the dark)

This was not right. This was not normal. What had she done to me?

(She SEES)

Had she performed some sort of parlour trick on me? Yes! That was it! It was her and her stage show ways.

It was Ok, I told myself. We are of different classes. I would never have to see the peculiar girl that had caused this perplexing torrent of emotion to rise with in me, ever again.

I groaned as I realised,

I was still wearing her damn jacket!.

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**Heya guys , hope u like their meeting. Things are gonna get a slight bit more shook up from hear on it. Please R&R and let me know what u think .. :D ciao :D **


	7. Chapter 7

I would just like to say a huge thank you to everyone who followed or favourite and reviewed and to anyone else that is reading this. Your mails and messages are appreciated.

I do not have a beta at the moment so any grammatical errors and spelling mistakes are my own. I apologise. I am looking for a beta so if any one is interested drop me a line.

You can also get in contact at my handle. Tumblr . com

Hope u like it.

This is a bit of a short chapter but 8 and 9 are in the works.

**Disclaimer: Do not own Glee Characters or Titanic. **

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Chapter 7

**Santana P.O.V **

_April 11th RMS Titanic.  
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In the middle of the night we had docked in Cherbourg in order to collect more passengers.

As I dressed, Rachel had whispered to me fervently the gossip she had gleaned from the other serving staff.

One of the passengers, Ms Sue Sylvester had caused quite the stir by bringing onboard a servant of colour, who went simply by the name of Jones. Some of the other passengers who shared Ms Sylvester's deck had complained, kicking up such as fuss at having the maid upon their deck by threatening to leave. One man had gone so far as to utter the term _jigaboo_ in reference to the maid, promptly earning him a well deserved slap from her employers who was by all accounts a formidable woman. She had proceeded to cause quite the drama, demanding to speak to the management. She had woken many passengers by screaming and shouting that her reach was everywhere and she would 'blacken' the White Star name.

I had laughed at the irony of Rachel's choice of words.

Eventually Ms Sylvester was calmed down by her tiny husband once he told her that the 1st mate had conceded by stating Jones would be allowed aboard the ocean liner just as long as she berthed in steerage. She had shelled out the money there and then without so much as a blink.

It seemed the upper classes had no problem with a coloured maid serving just so long as she knew where she ranked in the scheme of things and didn't eat, sleep, bathe or breathe in their vicinity.

Rachel had babbled on about how she, also as a maid of colour, understood the discrimination she must face.

I simply shook my head at my melodramatic friend.

I had taken breakfast on the promenade with my fiancé and my aunt, who as I anticipated, commented on the scandal of the previous evening. Richard went so far to say that people of colour where not far removed from monkeys and people of mixed race where nothing more than mongrels.

I had curtly reminded him that I was a person of mixed race and did that mean that I his fiancé was also a mongrel?

Realising his mistake, he had cooed that I was Spanish and related to minor royalty. In an attempt to regain, my affections he had offered to take me round the shops on board the ship. Vexed I had declined his offer, stating I wished to be in my own company, preferring to write to my father. He had left in a fit of temper followed by my aunt, asking why I felt the need to goad him and it would do me no good to remind him of my heritage. I had screamed in reply "Which part?"

Remembering how itching Rachel had been for an opportunity to hunt out and talk to the maid whose appearance had been the centre of the scandal. I had called her onto the promenade, giving her permission; on she had finished her chores, to find the servant, in the guise of wishing to invite Ms Sylvester and her husband to dine with us at the evening meal

She sounded like an entertaining character that would help break up the tedium of the rest of the journey. It was not of course the fact that such a person would grate upon the delicate sensibilities of my Aunt Sarah, Judy and most of all Quinn.

Not at all!.

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I was currently at my vanity, pen in hand trying to put into words my feelings. I did not want this engagement. My Aunt had convinced him it was a good match. That because their vine yards in California ran along side ours, once we got married, it would become the biggest in the state and would ensure not only my future but also any children I may have. That Richard Hartley came from one of the most influential families in America and was a good man.

How did I tell him that she was wrong?

Could I not ask if there was not another way? Could I not stay home, find the underlying cause of the attacks and take care of myself in the way that he had taught me? How did I say to him that I felt that the man my aunt was forcing me to marry would want to control and break me? I felt nothing for him but contempt and I knew in my heart, it would never change.

Did we have to obey old-fashioned rules?

My thoughts flashed to blond and blue and a carefree dance beneath the stars.

(Brittany)

I retrieved her jacket from beneath my pillow where I had stashed it the previous night. I had slept with it beneath my head, telling myself the only reason was so it wouldn't be discovered and under the bed was too dirty.

Rachel, upon making the bed, had found it, had raised her eyebrows but had refrained from mentioning it, not willing to add to my already foul mood.

I fingered the material, it felt course beneath my fingertips. I opened it up, inspecting inside. Stitched within the collar, sewn with course wool were the initials, B.S Pierce.

Assuming the B stood for Brittany, I now had a first and last name and just had to figure out how to find her.

Why was it so important I return the strange girl her jacket?

(She might be cold without it)

I patted it down, feeling stiffness and hearing a crinkle in one of the pockets, I gingerly reached in. My fingers brushed what felt like the smoothness of paper.

Maybe it was her boarding ticket. It would have her cabin number on it and I could be done with this completely bizarre business.

A thrill went through me. I mentally shook myself. The thrill was the thought of the adventure of exploring more of the ship. It defiantly was not the thought of encountering the blond dancer once more. Deep down I knew it was a lie.

(She sees!)

Pulling it out I realised it was too big to be a boarding pass. I was filled with a sense of intrusion. It was hers and it could be a letter from her beau or anything and private.

It looked like a map of the ship. One drawing was of the side and the other from above. On it were four X's at different points of the liner. The top one was obviously the top deck, the other three, a mystery. Written in neat cursive were the words Cabin 72 Deck F. I found myself mildly surprised but secretly pleased that Brittany could read and write.

My aunt had drummed into me that the lower classes had little to no education in my many scoldings for skipping my lessons, me much preferring to be in the stables or in the fields exploring the fauna and flora of my home.

Hearing the rattle of the door handle I quickly shoved the jacket back beneath my pillow. It would be safe there until I could return it. I quickly refolded the paper and shoved it into my brassiere. I felt giddy at the thought that Brittany's fingers had touched it and now it was touching my heart.

When had I, Santana Lopez, become so sentimental and over a complete and utter stranger?

Richards conceited voice cut into my thoughts,

"Santana, we are to take lunch with Bruce Ismay. Did you know he is the only other passenger to have use of a private promenade?"

I rolled my eyes as I fixed my dress before turning. I knew the reasons behind such a luncheon. It would be so he could name drop whilst he regaled his business associates back home.

He continued, off handily,

"Oh and Mr Thomas Andrews. I think He designed the ship or something."

Mr Andrews, the designer. He would know what the X's on the map meant. I barely contained my excitement.

"My dear! That sounds wonderful and interesting. I look forward to it. I also invited some guests to join us for dinner this evening."

Mistaking my enthusiasm for pleasure, he approached me smiling, as if he had somehow pleased me with this frivolity and our previous argument forgotten.

"That's a good girl."

He kissed me upon the cheek, his lips cold and clammy. I felt nothing at his affection. My thoughts flashed to Brittany and the tingle that had spread through me when I felt her warm soft lips against my palm.

I had wanted her to kiss me, my fiancé, I did not.

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**Please R&R Id like to know if your enjoying the way im taking this. Moreover, whether u like the characters. **


	8. Chapter 8

**To the two lovely guests who left reviews**

**Who said Brittany was all sweet and cute taking care of Santana .** **And Santana has a crush and asked if Brittany is going to die? **I can't reveal what will happen to any of the character, you'll just have to wait and see ;)

And thank you I didn't know if I was writing Santana properly and whether her feelings where coming across as too full on , your review helped me so much. And Britts cuteness is exactly what Im going for.

I would just like to say a huge thank you to everyone who followed or favourite and reviewed and to anyone else that is reading this. Your mails and messages are appreciated. In addition, I always love reading them. It lets me know im on the write track

I do not have a beta at the moment so any grammatical errors and spelling mistakes are my own. I apologise. I am looking for a beta so if any one is interested drop me a line.

You can also get in contact at my handle. Tumblr . com

Hope u like it.

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Chapter 8

**Santana P.O.V **

_April 11th RMS Titanic._

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Lunch with Richard, Aunt Sarah, Samuel, The Fabray's and our two new guests had been a boring affair. I paid little attention to the idle gossip from the events of the previous evening, having already heard them from Rachel. Instead, my mind had been else where, trying to hatch a plan where I could gain some time away from everyone and have the freedom to return Brittany's belongings.

For the rest of the luncheon I had nodded when it was expected and replied to any conversation sent in my direction with curtsy and poise. I was biding my time to mention to Mr Andrews the map.

Mr Ismay's preoccupation with size had me biting my tongue wishing to quote Freud, there by humiliating him.

Sam and Mr Andrews had an animated conversation about the mechanics of the Titanic. When Sam admitted to having a fascination with pumps and I did not reply with a curt comment, even though I did think to myself 'Wanky', it did not go entirely unnoticed. The sweet man I was finding him to be, despite his enormous mouth, commented on my unusual quietness.

I had thought to myself how Quinn would be lucky to catch him and for a brief moment, I entertained the idea of asking her to swap.

I had simply replied that I was feeling under the weather and maybe the sea air would do me good.

Quinn had looked at me strangely, yet surprised me with her sweetness by immediately suggesting that they all should accompany me and take a stroll as the weather was fair. Every one agreed especially Mr Ismay and Mr Andrews who were only happy to oblige and give us the grand tour.

As we made our way along the deck I had listened, intently as they discussed the engines, the length and labor needed to make the colossal man made object move. The women of our group had chatted amongst themselves showing no interest..

I had hung back and finally managed to get a moment of Mr Andrews's time. I had asked him about the seemingly small numbers of life boats in ratio to the amount of passengers, the rest not willing to listen to the answer of my seemingly stupid question had carried on.. He had told me I was right, that there was not enough,

I took my opportunity by pulling out the map and showing it to him. I asked him what it meant saying I had found something that I wished to return personally.

He had patiently explained the map. I had thanked him and caught his meaning as he called me a spitfire and assured me he would make my apologies to the rest of our companions as I feigned illness and I took the opportunity to slip away unnoticed.

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I hurriedly made it through my cabin door, hastily locking it behined me to be met with Rachel dusting and cleaning. She stopped what she was doing as she watched my irratic behaviour. Realising I was not with my Aunt or anyone else she dropped all formality and asked.

"Santana, what are you doing?"

Ignoring her, I began frantically tearing pillows from the bed. My heart stopped. It was gone! I fought the blind panic that my Aunt had some how become aware of it. Instead, I rounded on the tiny maid, growling

"Where is it Rachel?"

She looked at me with alarm as she began to stammer,

"I, I , Here!" Pulling it quickly from my picture box, "I thought it would be safer there. Who does it belong to?"

Relief washed through me as I took it. I needed to leave. I could not run the risk that either Richard or my Aunt would check up on me once they realised my absence,

"If anyone asks of me you must tell them that I began to feel better and took it upon myself to explore the gym and the pool that Mr Evans was so interested in."

"But, Santana? I cannot lie! What if something happens to you?"

"Please." I begged, "I need you to do this. I shall explain everything later. I promise."

She nodded in defeat. I realised what I was asking her to do would put her in an awful position. I gave her a hug; she froze in my arms,

"You are my dearest friend."

"Am I?" She asked in surprise "You're not saying this in a Quinn way are you?"

I shook my head, reassuring her, "No! With you, I mean it. You are and you always have been."

She hugged me back. "Go on shoo! Go get your Romeo!"

I let her go, pushing her a little playfully "Pfft it's not my Romeo. What is it with you and all the dramatics?"

I could hear her laughter as I exited, closing the door behind me.

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I had made my way through a maze of identical white passageways and corridors. On more than one occasion I had been forced to retrace my steps when taking a wrong turn or flight of stairs. They were narrow in comparison to the upper decks and mobbed with foot traffic also trying to navigate themselves to their own destinations.

I had forgotten that we had docked off the coast of Ireland in order to collect the last of the passengers.

The smell of unwashed bodies and in some cases stale liquor had almost made me gag.

I had been stepped on, shouldered and pinched so many times my patience had worn thin and I was about to explode, telling myself that I would beat to death the next person who touched me. I wondered how Brittany could do this every day.

I thought I caught a flash of blond and green behind me. There was no way _she_ could have followed me.

Finally, on Deck F, I peered up at the tiny number written on the small cabin doors. I was in the higher digits so I was on the right track I muttered to myself,

"soixente- nuef, setenta, setenta y uno , setenta y dos. Jackpot!"

I had found it.!

The door was open.

The tiny cabin was occupied by a dark skinned man, who had a ridiculous haircut and looked like a gypsy and a girl with boyish features. The gypsy lay on the bottom of one of the bunk beds, hands behind his head. The girl sat across on another set of bunk beds, cleaning her nails. I knocked. The dark skinned man looked at me upside down and the girl snapped up her head.

"Sorry. I am looking for Brittany! "

The two of them stared at me open mouthed,

"Tall. Blond, Dancer. I found her jacket and this," I waved the map. "says this is her cabin."

They carried on staring at me. Maybe they were some of her acting friends or just plain dumb?

"Hello! Do you speak English?" I snapped.

The girl quickly snapped out of her trance and jumped up, taking off her cap and revealing she was not a girl at all but in fact a very effeminate young man.

"Where are our manners? Kurt Hummel." He aimed a side swiped kick at the gypsy on the bed. "We're friends of Miss Brittany."

"Miss Santana Lopez and as I was saying I am looking for Brittany."

The gypsy rolled lazily off the bunk and ran his hand through what looked like a dead rat on his head in an attempt to smooth it.

"Well if you have her map then she is more than likely lost or still hiding in her cabin." He turned to Kurt "No wonder she wasn't at breakfast."

"Well it's a good job we got her some food then isn't it Puck. Kurt slapped him in the side of the head making him rise to his feet. He continued,

"We were just about to attempt to head down Miss Lopez. Would you like to accompany us? A lady should never wander around down here without a chaperone."

It infuriated me, twanging the last thread of patience I possessed,

"I am my own woman! If anything lady boy I ought to be chaperoning you_!_"

"Well" Puck scoffed, "In that case Miss La De Da I guess you wont need our help then. Bye!"

I turned on my heel and stomped back along the passageway when I realised all I had was an X. I returned to the cabin door.

Kurt was nonchalantly fixing his hair in the mirror and Puck was gathering himself.

"Back so soon?"

I placed my hands on my hips, bracing my self and glaring at them both to hide my embarrassment.

"What did you mean by attempt and what kind of a stupid name is Puck anyway?"

"Why Miss Lopez, is that your way of asking us to help?" Kurt played with his comb, arching his eyebrow.

Puck lazily leaned his elbows on the top bunk behind him as he fixed me with a smug smirk

"I think she could ask a lot nicer, don't you Kurt? And any ways aren't all you first class girls supposed to be all well mannered and the like?"

"Yes Puck I do believe that to be the case." Kurt batted back.

I bridled at their enjoyed joke at my expense. Tongue in cheek I rolled my eyes, knowing what I had to do.

"Yes Ok, Kurt, Puck Please could you tell me Brittany's cabin number?"

Puck smirked at me again, enjoying every moment

"See was that so hard?"

I really wanted to tear that fuzzy strip right off his head and make him swallow it.

"Puck that's enough. Miss Lopez we shall do you one better and show you. We have to bring her food anyways and if that porter is there, we can only get so far. Therefore, we help you, you help us and we all help Brittany."

I was curious,

"So how were you going to get past him without me?"

Puck grinned,

"Well we were hoping she would turn up here, doesn't seem to be a problem if women come this way. If all else failed we were going pretend Kurt was a girl."

I snorted.

"What?" Kurt asked

"It's figures. It would work too, cause when I first saw you I thought you where a girl."

"Hey! Not fair.!"

Puck and I burst into fits of giggles.

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As we strolled along the passageways Brittany's companions chatted easily and unreservedly. Kurt asked me the gossip from upstairs, who was on board and was it true that a woman and attacked a man. I learned Kurt had a passion for Literature quoting Shakespeare, Wilde and Blake. He loved the ballet and had once snuck into to see Swan Lake. I was surprised that a farm boy from Ohio had such an extensive knowledge of music, preferring Mozart to Bach.

Puck regaled me with the story of how whilst working on a train he had got drunk and had been held down by his work mates whilst they chopped off his hair. He was a sort of artist who loved Picasso's distorted sense of beauty and was not in fact a gypsy but Jewish.

They both persistently asked me to tell them how Brittany and I met and why I was possession of her jacket. I declined, telling them it was up to Brittany to say.

I found that despite the misunderstanding of our earlier introduction, I liked them both. They both seemed to genuinely care for Brittany and I was glad that she had people around her who would look out for her. Maybe in another life they could have been friends of mine also.

When we got so far along the corridor, the boys stopped. I could see the porter further down watching us warily as we approached. Kurt groaned,

"Does he ever leave? Here," He handed me a small wrapped cloth. "That's Miss Brittany's breakfast and lunch. It's not much, buts its what we could sneak out. Her cabin is 23. Ask her to meet us later as the usual place; she shall know where you mean. It was a pleasure to meet you Miss Lopez."

He raised my hand barely to his lips; he turned to leave as the porter approached,

"Miss where they bothering you?"

"No! But you are!" I snarled over my shoulder.

Puck shouted further down the passageway,

"Hey Miss La De Da.. Watch this" The porter and I waited. "Hey Arsehole! Your cousin says Hi! "

He dropped his pants, flashing his bare backside for all to see. The porter went bug eyed beside me. Puck and Kurt tore off down the corridor, screaming in laughter before the porter got a start.

"Oi. You two stop!"

I threw my head back and howled. It had to be one of the funniest things I had seen in a long time.

As I made my way closer to Brittany's cabin, I still could not shake the feeling of being followed. The passageway was empty. I put it down to me being paranoid that by now I would be missed.

Now I was finally alone I began to think what I would say to the dancer.

"Hi am a crazy stalker who crawled through the bowels of the ship just to hunt you down and return your jacket."

It sounded crazy but it was exactly what I had done! I scolded myself.

(For gods sake you are returning a jacket. Nothing more.)

So why didn't it feel like that?

My palms were sweaty. I wiped them on my dress. I went to knock, and then turned away. I fussed with my hair. I took a deep breath, raised my clenched hand, squeezed my eyes shut and allowed it to fall against the wood, the sound of it resonating as a boom in my ears.

Once I started, I found I could not stop.

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**Brittany's P.O.V **

_April 11th RMS Titanic Cabin 23 Deck F _

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For the fourth time that morning, I woken by banging.

Once, in the middle of the night by my new cabin mate, who had grumbled beneath her breath some thing about racist bastards and blatantly ignored me before crawling into her own bed. A few short hours later it happened a second time as the black girl threw on the light, fixing her dress and bashing about the place. The black and white style I had never seen before but judging by her outfit, I assumed

she was a maid of some sorts. With the amount of luggage she had strewn around the room, I could only guess her employer must be one of the upper classes. I briefly thought of Santana and if she would see her before I was pulled back into the depths of slumber into dreams filled with carpet rides and talking genies.

In what felt like ten minutes, I awoke on a third occasion, this time by knocking. I had stumbled from the bed, banging into things a long the way before I tore open the door to see yet another maid.

They were everywhere!

This one was small and tiny reminding me of the performing midgets in the variety shows. Her smile was something else. If Mr Royston or Madame Carmellota had seen this they would of snapped her up there and then and thrown her on the stage for the smile alone. It was born for the stage. She had asked for Jones. I guessed that was the name of my new cabin mate. I explained she had left and asked if I could take a message. She ranted and raved something about specific instructions, responsibility and trust. I marvelled. I was willing her to breath. I wondered how she did not go purple from lack of oxygen. I almost became dizzy for her. With lungs like that, I wondered how long she could hold her breath under water and if she had ever tried. I missed half of what she said I was so distracted, finally, she finished.

"So, no messages then?" I asked with an uncharacteristic hint of sarcasm.

She left in a huff.

I crawled back beneath my blanket, exhausted, snuggling my head into my pillow allowing the boat to rock me to sleep. Just a few more minutes and I would rise and meet Kurt and Puck.

Once more, there was an ignescent knocking seeping into my dreams of yodelling penguins and cycling midgets. I growled to myself, tearing back the blanket, falling once more through Jones's luggage. I gripped the cabin door handle and pulled it back with so much force I nearly tore it from its hinges. I stopped in a stupor. I was sure I was awake.

There stood at the other side of the door was Santana.

Could she have found me?

"Princess?"

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She opened the door.

"Princess?" She asked in disbelief as she rubbed her sleepy blue eyes with the heels of her hands. Her corn silk hair was wild, sticking out in all directions. Freckles danced across her nose as she crinkled it, a small pout adding to the cuteness of her slight confusion. She looked adorable.

She was wearing nothing but an over sized shirt. I could see her long naked legs. The way her calves turned perfectly. Her toned thighs. I could feel the prickle of heat creeping from my neck up in to my cheeks as I blushed. I held the cloth full of food to her face as I tried to avert my eyes, hoping she had not caught me staring. My nerves took over as I began to ramble,

"I brought breakfast, food. Well Kurt and Puck got you food. I brought it down cause I found your porter I mean map and the boys aren't allowed to.. Your jacket."

She stood with no shame at her state of undress in the open doorway, a look of amusement on her features as she went to take her jacket and the small food parcel.

"Thank you." Her voice was shy and soft. I thought of honey at its sound.

I nodded, "I just wished to return your jacket and thank you for allowing me to borrow it."

I did not think it was possible but her baby blues became slightly bigger, sparkling with almost tears as a look of disappointment crossed her angelic features. Her pink pout began to quiver. I could not abide being the cause of such a look upon her face.

My resolve at wanting to do nothing more than return her jacket left me. I found myself wanting to know everything about her. Where she was from? Who the infamous Madame Carmellota was? Who Puck and Kurt were to her?

That pout! It was as if it had power over me. The words left me before I could stop them,

"I was wondering if we could take the air together and if you would be so kind to tell me more about your dancing?"

As quickly as her pout appeared, it disappeared, replaced by an ear-to-ear sunbeam smile. I found myself not caring that she had some how tricked me with her stage show ways once more, instead nervous that she would reject me. I stared into her eyes as a moment of decision hung between us. She took a tiny piece of her bottom lip between her teeth before replying,

"I would like that! Just let me get changed."

She turned back into the cabin leaving the door open. I caught a glimpse of her smooth creamy buttocks as she bent over to retrieve something from the floor. I felt the same dull throb between my legs that I had experienced the night before. I wanted to touch her. I found my hand reaching of its own accord. Diverting I gripped the door handle instead, pulling it a little closer to hide her modesty from prying eyes.

I leant my back against the passageway wall as I tried to calm myself. What was it about this girl that made me lose all self control?

(She's a stranger and a girl for gods sake)

"Are you not coming in?" she called through the small crack in the door.

"No!" I garbled, the thought of being so close to her whilst she undressed was too much. I did not trust what I would do. "It doesn't look big enough to swing a cat."

"Why would anyone want to swing a cat? That is just cruel. Cats don't like swings. I tried!"

(Wait what?)

"I like swings though. Where there are swings, there are ducks. I like ducks they are my favourite. Well, apart from Lord Tubbington."

. Curiosity got the better of me,

"Whose Lord Tubbington?"

"Oh he's my cat. I was sad I had to leave him in London but he promised he would write and Millie promised she would take care of him and make sure he doesn't start smoking again."

A quick sharp flutter in my chest.. Was this girl constantly sugar and sweetness?

I heard the running of a tap and a few quite curses as she banged into things.

She appeared at the door, wearing the same trousers and shirt as the previous evening. This time she wore ballerina shoes on her feet and the jacket I had returned. She had braided her hair and made it disappear beneath a soft blue cap set to one side. I watched as she stuffed the cloth of food into her pocket and patted the other.

"We ready?"

I nodded. I did not wish for my voice to betray me. She began to make her way along the corridor. Every single one of her movements was graceful and delicate. My eyes were transfixed upon her backside, sheshaying in front of me as she walked. My heart hammered in my chest. The heat pooling between my legs almost unbearable.

"Are you ok Princess?"

My eyes snapped up. If she had caught me staring, she did not show it. Instead, she held out her pinky finger. Sensing my hesitation, she said,

"Did you know otters hold hands when they sleep so they don't float away from one another in the middle of the night?"

I had just found the epitome of precious. How could some one make me feel so comfortable with a few choice words?

I took it, expecting it to feel strange. It did not. They fit perfectly together and it felt right. I gripping it tighter I became bold as I heard myself purr,

"Well my little dancing otter, I better hold on tight because this is a huge ocean and I do not want your precious self floating away."

(Where did that come out of?)

Her smile blinded me, her cheeks burned crimson,

"Aww Sanny!"

Our joined hands swung between us as we walked and it felt like we had been doing it for a lifetime.

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	9. Chapter 9

I would like to apologise for the mistakes in the last chapter. As I re read it I realised them.. I shall be fixing them

I would just like to say a huge thank you to everyone who followed or favourite and reviewed and to anyone else that is reading this. Your mails and messages are appreciated. In addition, I always love reading them. It lets me know im on the write track

I do not have a beta at the moment so any grammatical errors and spelling mistakes are my own. I apologise. I am looking for a beta so if any one is interested drop me a line.

You can also get in contact at my handle. Tumblr . com

Hope u like it.

**Disclaimer I do not own the Glee characters or Titanic **

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Chapter 9

_April 11th . Afternoon. RMS Titanic. _

**Brittany P.O.V**

I was in a state of shock. I could not believe that she was here. That she had actively sought me out to be in my company. I had resigned myself to never seeing her again. I felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

I paid no attention as to where we were going as we wandered aimlessly along the passageways. I was too distracted by the way in which her jade green two piece dress showed off her figure.

Embroidered pale yellow flowers played with jade green of her corset. The tied with similar coloured laces that criss crossed over each other, tightly pulling it in at her tiny waist and pushing up her ample bosoms. I felt a small heat at my cheeks as I remembered the previous evening and feeling of them pressed against me. The skirt was long, almost to the ground. It fell into two creases at the front. At her waist, another sash wrapped round her, becoming a tiny ruffle at the base of her spine. The excess material flowed down over the curve of her buttocks. Every time she took a step it made a swoosh sound. Over her shoulders, she wore a jacket of matching colour that came only a quarter of the way down her back. It had long sleeves with a slight lace ruffle at each cuff and a tiny inch high collar that stood to attention. Again, she wore her raven locks down, this time she had held back one side with a small toothcomb in the shape of a dragonfly.

She behaved a lot happier than she had the previous night, smiling her true smile, the one that showed off her dimples, more often, yet she seemed jitterey as every now and then she would look over her shoulder. Her coffee coloured eyes still held sadness within but also a hint of something else I could not quite put my finger on. I willed all the elation I felt at being near her, down into our interlocked pinkies, hoping it would somehow reach inside her and find that sadness, then it whole.

"So Britt-Britt, where shall we go? She stiffened slightly. "Is it ok if I call you Britt-Britt?" She asked.

A shiver went down my spine at the sound of my name in her voice,

"Sure. I like it!" I squeezed her pinkie reassuringly. I loved the way they felt together.

Relaxing visibly she repeated,

"Where shall we go?"

"I don't know?" I shrugged. "I thought we could wander and explore, unless there is some where you would like to go?"

She looked over her shoulder once more. I copied her; there were one or two White Star workers, no doubt on some important mission and one or two other passengers, nothing out of the ordinary. I half expected to see a monster. She was making me nervous.

"Are you ok Princess?"

She nodded,

"Yeah I'm fine. Please can we go to the third class top deck?"

"Sure, where ever you want to go San."

She smiled that glorious smile. It was like a piece of art. It was something the whole world should see. It transformed her into a completely different person.

"Lead the way Britt-Britt."

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One or two people threw us curious glances, no doubt wondering what a first class lady in all her finery was doing being accompanied by me in my mannish attire, as she led me by the pinkie to the prow of the ship. She stopped just beneath the very tip of the liner, almost as if she wished to be as far away from prying eyes as possible. She began to gather her skirts.

"San. What are you doing?" I asked.

"Sitting down." She replied.

"On the deck?"

"Of course. Where else shall we sit?" she reproached.

I realised there were no seats or benches near by. I peeled myself out of my jacket, removing the food parcel before holding it out to her at arms length,

"Here, you can sit on that. I don't want you to ruin your dress."

She clucked as she attempted to brush it away,

"It won't ruin. Besides I have plenty more."

"I don't care! Take it!" I commanded. "I will not have you sitting on the floor." I shook the jacket for emphasis.

"Ok. Ok!" She rolled her eyes playfully as she took it.

She began pacing in a tight circle. I watched her fascinated. She was like Lord Tubbington when he wanted to get comfortable. I took in every small movement, committing it memory. How she swept her hair behind her ear as she concentrated. How her lips pursed and her nose twitched as she tried to find the perfect spot. Satisfied, she placed my jacket on the floor. Gracefully she lowered herself down, drawing her skirts and legs beneath her, leaning against her left hand. She peered up at me. I must have had a look of surprise on my face because she broke into a deep, hearty laugh.

How I loved that sound.

She chuckled,

"I'm not afraid of a bit of dirt Britt."

"Well, you look like…" I ventured.

A hint of amusement played across her exquisite features, arching her eyebrow, she teased,

"I look like what?"

I pursed my lips,

"You look like an indoor girl is all!"

She snorted, pulling at my trousers, indicating she wished me to join her.

"I'm far from an indoor girl."

I sat down opposite her, crossed legged, placing the food parcel in the tiny gap between us.

"So what are you?" I asked. I wanted to know. So far everything about this woman was so unexpected.

"I prefer being outside in the air. When I was little I was always covered in dirt after playing in the vineyards or the stables."

"Vine yards?" I unwrapped the cloth of the parcel, laying it out in a neat square. It contained a small apple, lump of cheese and a small slice of beef.

She looked impish as she teased,

"No Britt-Britt. That is not how you play Tit for Tat. You asked a question now it's my turn."

I swatted at her,

"You never said we were playing a game?"

She shuffled closer; a spark of mischief in her coffee coloured eyes, leaning forward she began poking me in the ribs. Throwing my hands up in defeat, I squealed,

"Ok! I'll play! I'll play!"

She returned to relaxing upon her hand. A smile ghosted her plump, red lips as she pondered. I imagined they would taste like cherries. To distract myself I patted my pockets, fishing out a small penknife, I began to peel the small red and yellow apple. I could feel her observing my every move. The juices ran along the blade, over my thumb and down my hand. I gave it a quick lick.

"How did you end up in Europe?"

I looked up from what I was doing,

"I'm from Cincinnati originally. My mother was a Dutch ballerina and my father a top banana comedian."

I began to nibble upon a piece of peel as I continued,

"There was more work for them on the "Home Continent", as my mother called it. We got to travel all over. It was exciting growing up."

I returned to peeling the apple,

"What about you?"

"I was born in America, just like you. California to be exact. My father is Spanish, so they decided to raise me in the Catalonian region of Spain, where his family is from. Have you ever been?"

I shook my head. She began telling me about her home. She became so passionate and alive as she talked about her Andalusian horses. Gone was the sad girl from the previous evening. I sat, listening to her soothing raspy voice as she described the vineyards, the haciendas, the heat and the valleys that made up her home. It sounded like her, Wild yet beautiful. I cut the apple up into slices.

"How rude of me? Going on about myself." She added sheepishly.

"No. its ok." I reassured her. "I like listening to you talk."

Offered her a slice, she took it tentatively,

"How old are you?"

She began to nibble on the slice of apple, delicately. A small sliver of juice trickled down her chin. I wanted to wipe it away. I stopped myself by shoving a slice into my mouth. She waited patiently as I chewed.

"20." I choked out as I swallowed. "You?"

"I'm 19."

I sliced up the piece of cheese and cut into strips the small piece of beef, leaving them along with the rest of the apple on the small cloth between us.

"Help yourself." I offered.

She beamed at me, her dimples appearing at her cheeks.

"Britt! Its like our own little picnic." She proclaimed as she clasped her hands to her chest.

She began to relax and become more carefree, no longer looking down the deck so often, the conversation flowing between us easily as we ate our meal.

I had told her where in Europe I had visited. I told her about the stages I had performed on. The circuses and shows I had seen. I told her how I had met Kurt and Puck. She in turn told me about Rachel, her maid who was evidently dear to her and Quinn, who in contrast was not.. Her fingers had fluttered over my arm as she replayed how she had met my companions and Pucks antics with the porter. I was secretly pleased that she liked them both. I regaled her with funny stories from the music halls and my youth. We howled with laughter until it hurt.

"Please Britt! Stop!" She begged. "No more! I can't breath!"

Her cheeks were flush with colour, her dark hair shone in the afternoon sun as her eyes danced with mirth.

Finally catching her breath she shuffled closer until her knees were touching mine.

"Britt?" She ventured shyly, looking at me from beneath her long dark lashes.

"San?" I winked at her.

She tipped her head coquettishly, looking as if she was contemplating something.

"What is it Princess?"

"Who is Madame Carmellota? You've mentioned her so many times and I just wondered."

"My father died when I was 13.I had no one else so Madame Carmellota took pity on me. She took me under her wing and taught me everything she knows about the stage. She's like a mother to me."

"So she's not a proper Madame?"

I sat bolt up right, crying out in shock,

"Dear god! No! That is just her stage name."

A look of relief crossed her face,

"Well I just thought."

We broke into fits of giggles at her misunderstanding. I reminded her.

"Not fair. You asked two questions. Now it's my turn.!"

Every time she had moved her left hand, I had caught the sparkle on her finger.

"Are you married?"

She immediately went quiet. She shielded her eyes from the sun, shadowing her expression as she looked out across the wide ocean.

"No. Engaged." It was barely a whisper. I had to strain to hear it.

Maybe I had been too forward.

An awkward silence, broken only by the shrieks of the gulls above, settled between us as she picked out the pattern in the warm timber. I watched in agony as she struggled to keep her emotions in check. Her bottom lip began to tremble. Covering her face with her hands, she let out a strangled sob.

I shifted round, sitting beside her, placing an arm around her shoulders. I pulled her into me. She placed her head upon my breast as I held her and began stroking her hair with my other hand. What had I done?

"Shh , Shh Princess." I cooed, trying to sooth her as she racked with sobs, "It will be ok."

"No it wont!" I felt and heard her muffled wail. I rocked her gently and rubbed her shoulder until her sobs died down. Worry filled me. I felt her sniffle into my chest.

"I don't want to get married." She mumbled.

I gently pried away her fingers. Pulling my sleeve over my left hand I began to wipe away the excess tears from her stained face. Her deep eyes were huge and full of hurt. She looked so small and fragile. I was afraid that, if I squeezed her too hard, she would break. It was heart wrenching. She gripped my now damp shirt as she curled back into me.

"Well don't!" I murmured into her hair as I kissed her crown. I closed my eyes as I took in the scent of lavender and everything that was Santana.

"I don't have a choice Britt!"

I did not know what else to say or do so I continued to rock her gently. She sniffled once more, shifting a little in my arms; she started to fiddle with the material of my trousers. It all began to tumble from her sweet lips.

"My father is gravely ill. Our vineyards and business are dwindling. We have enough money but not enough for me to take care of my aunt and be an unmarried woman for the rest of my life. He's worried about my future."

I could barely hear her. I pressed a finger to her chin, raising her face. Her eyebrows pinched together in a frown. I attempted to smooth the creases from her brow with my thumb. She continued angrily,

"My Aunt has put it into his head that marrying me off will ensure that she and I shall be taken care of after he's gone. Who am I to refuse him?"

I decided to be bold. I needed to know the answer to a provocative question,

"Do you love him?"

She began furiously rubbing the deck with her perfectly manicured fingernail.

"I hate him!"

"Can you not walk away?" I exclaimed. She twisted out of my arms.

"Brittany, I cant!" She snapped.

I flinched at her full use of my name. In agitation, she began gesticulating with her hands.

"It's all been arranged. The invitations have already been sent out. The whole of high society shall be there."

A bitterness crept into her voice..

"In a few short months I shall me Mrs Richard Hartley, to be shown off like a prize filly. Moreover, my Aunt shall be back amongst the social butterflies where she believes she belongs. I am nothing more and a pawn!"

I gulped. I could not imagine living my life with out love. I could not help but think how desolate and bleak it must all seem to her. I moved until I was as close to her as possible. She rested her head upon my shoulder. I took her hand, interlacing our fingers. It felt so small and soft within my own. Toffee against cream. Her anger dissipated as she let out a sigh,

"I feel so trapped Britt-Britt."

We sat watching the ocean stretch out before us far and wide. She broke the silence,

"When I met you, last night." She paused with a deep breath. I waited. She squeezed my hand until our knuckles turned white. "I was on my way to throw myself overboard."

The anger I felt inside me turned to sorrow as my heart broke at her words. I could not comprehend how someone could make this heavenly creature beside me so miserable that the only option she felt she had at happiness was by ending it all. I apologised,

"Im sorry."

"For what?" She asked.

"Bringing it up and ruining our day." Tears began to prick at my eyes.

"Shh Britt. It's not your fault. I have never told anyone this. Not even Rachel.."

She lifted her head to look at me. The sadness had returned to her mocha eyes as she gave me a weak smile.

"I don't know why but I feel like I can tell you anything."

She placed her other hand over the top of our already clasped ones.

"Its actually kind of a relief being able to say it aloud. So thank you.."

She pressed her soft lips gently to my cheek. It lingered and burned. My heart skipped. She retuned her head to its nesting place. I leant mine upon hers.

"Santana, what makes you truly happy?" I queried.

She replied without missing a beat,

"Singing and horse riding."

"Why?"

"Its liberating I guess.."

"Like me with my dancing?" I replied

I felt her nod.

"Your like Pocahontas!"

She looked up at me in confusion.

"She was an Indian chieftain's daughter." I began to explain.

"I know who she was. " She waited for me to carry on.

"Pocahontas. All she wanted was to be free."

Her eyes darkened.

Suddenly an idea struck me. If I could not free her from her horrible situation, I would do what I could. I would give her the next best thing. I would give her the illusion even if it were only for a few brief moments, it would be better than nothing at all.

I jumped up, spooking her with my sudden movement.

"Come on!"

I pulled her to her feet. She bent down to retrieve my jacket. I swiftly pulled it on as she shook out her skirts, settling them. Standing behind her, I placed my hands upon her waist,

"Britt, what are you doing?" She asked in puzzlement.

"Trust me." I crooned in her ear as I guided her to the very tip of the prow.

She gripped the railing, the wind whipped her hair back into my face. I began to cough and splutter. She laughed as she looked over the side.

"Look Britt! Look!" She yelled, bouncing up and down in excitement, pointing down to the sea.

I wrapped my arms around her waist. She was leaning so far over I was in fear of her falling overboard. I peered over the side to where she was pointing. Far below was a school of dolphins, racing along side the ship. They jumped and dived with the waves left in the ocean liners wake. It was as if they were playing. One broke the surface, flipping over showing his belly.

"Look princess! He's waving!"

She giggled as we both waved back. She turned her head slightly,

"Did you know that there is a dolphin with a horn called a Narwhale? Sailors in their delirium would mistake them for unicorns."

I tightened my grip round her tiny frame as I replied.

"Unicorns are rare and magical." I kissed her cheek lightly as I whispered in her ear. "You are a unicorn."

She straightened herself,

"You really think so?"

"Yes. And if no body else can see that, then they don't deserve you!"

She hummed to herself as she closed her eyes, the wind catching her hair once more, as she relaxed into me. I rested my chin upon her shoulder. She slowly let go of the railing, inter twining our fingers at her waist. Closing my eyes, I held her, listening to the song I did not know, and enjoying the way she moulded into me.

I do not know how long we had stood there but when I opened my eyes, the sun had begun to dip. She looked almost peaceful, standing at the prow of the ship, facing out towards a brave new world.

"See, you do look like Pocahontas." I told her.

She bumped backwards into me playfully,

"Does that make you my John Smith?"

I chuckled. She turned in my arms, pressing herself flush against me, her mocha eyes searching my face as she breathed,

"Is this what you do Miss Brittany. With your stage show ways?. Turn girls heads with speeches of Indian princesses and unicorns?"

Our faces were inches apart,

"Only the pretty ones." I murmured back.

She knotted my shirt at my chest with her right hand, her left rose hesitantly before softly caressing my cheek. I dare not move. She reached up and pressed her plump full lips to mine. They were soft, smooth and tasted of apple. The air disappeared from my lungs. I could not believe it. Princess was kissing me.

She pulled back. I held her tighter against me. I could feel her trembling. I leant down, taking her bottom lip between mine, sucking gently. I felt the vibrations as she let out a small moan at the contact. She gripped the back of my neck as she pulled me down further, tentatively running her tongue along my top lip. I allowed mine to slip out and softly meet hers. She drew my tongue a little deeper.

I tingled from head to toe, I did not wish to break from our perfect moment. I could not hear, see or feel anything but Santana.

A deafening horn blew, crashing into our own private world. We pulled our lips apart. Our breath mingled together. I started into her almost black eyes. They were like the night, if you started into them long enough you could see the light hidden there. She closed them, resting our foreheads together. I felt dizzy from her proximity.

"I wish I could stay here, forever." She buried her head into my chest as she wormed her arms round my torso, hugging me close.

"Me too!" I whispered into her hair. I tried to lighten the mood, not willing to allow our impeding separation to upset her.

"Are you going to be Cinderella and leave me a shoe so I can search for you this time?"

I felt her giggle rumble against me. She lifted her head,

"Oh Britt-Britt. You and your fairy tales." She gave me a quick peck at the corner of my mouth,

"You know I must go and so should you. That was the dinner bell, we do not have long to get ready. People shall be looking for us."

I was reluctant to let her go. She rose on her tiptoes to give me another sweet peck on my nose.

"Come on."

We both stepped down from the prow. She linked her arm through mine as we meandered slowly along the deserted deck. Neither of us wishing to part company from the other. We kept catching each other's sideways glances then quickly looking away, bursting into fits of giggles at our silliness.

At the gate that led up to the upper class deck, she stopped completely, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear,

"I would love to spend some time with you tomorrow." She looked bashful as she added, "To talk about your dancing being we didn't get to talk about that much today."

I placed my hands in my pockets, looking around nonchalantly as I rocked back and forth on my heels.

"Oh well, I don't know Miss Lopez. I have quite a full schedule tomorrow."

Her eyes narrowed as she feigned offence,

"Have a better offer, do we?"

I smirked,

"Something like that."

She stepped upon the first step that would lead her up the flight of stairs back to the upper classes, her fiancé and away from me. She looked around then grabbed the lapels of my jacket, pulling me towards her. I tilted my head up. She crashed our lips together hard, kissing me until neither of us could no longer breathe.

I heard a wolf whistle from somewhere. Her voice was husky as she said,

"Better than that?"

"I shook my head, unable to speak

"Here, tomorrow afternoon. I don't know what time."

"I'll be waiting." I croacked.

She dipped her head to give me a quick peck on my forehead.

"Thank you for today sweet Britt-Britt."

I watched in a daze as she ascended the stairs. She turned at the top, giving me a seductive wave with her fingers and then she was gone.

A scottish accent snapped me back to reality.

"Go on my son!"

I looked around.

"Up here!"

I looked up. Off to the left, two navy sailors were smoking idly against the railing of an over hanging gangplank. Probably the culprits of the earlier wolf whistle I thought.

"What's your secret laddie? Landing a fine lassie like that?"

"Im a girl!" I retorted.

"Get out! Your kidding!" They nudged each other. "Does she know?"

"Yup!" I threw over my shoulder.

Catcalls and wolf whistles followed me as I felt like I was walking on air. My face split in two by my huge smile I did not seem able to keep off my face.

I couldn't wait to tell Puck and Kurt about my day .


	10. Chapter 10

**Imagine Brittana - ** **This chapter is dedicated to you. You are a little hub of inspiration. And yes you are on the right track with the friendly shadow. **

I would just like to say a huge thank you to everyone who followed or favourite and reviewed and to anyone else that is reading this. Your mails and messages are appreciated. In addition, I always love reading them. It lets me know I'm on the write track

I do not have a beta at the moment so any grammatical errors and spelling mistakes are my own. I apologise. I am looking for a beta so if any one is interested drop me a line.

You can also get in contact at my handle. Tumblr . com

Hope u like it.

**Disclaimer I do not own the characters of glee .. **

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Chapter 10 **Interlude.**

_April 14th 1982. Los Angeles, California._

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"Cut! Everybody take a break!" Max roared.

People shuffling and gathering their belongings as they made their way to the exits, were the only sounds to permeate the awe struck silence that shrouded the small studio.

Santana blinked as the illumination of the room changed from the harsh glare of the stage lighting to the much softer hue of the over head light fixtures.

Diane sat on the edge of her seat still in a state of rapture at the revelation.

"Jesus!" The reporter exhaled as she flopped back in her chair, stunned and unable to move as the door banged shut heralding the last of the crew to leave.

Santana began fiddling with the dolphin pendent around her neck, waiting for the fire works to begin. She was filled with apprehension as Max approached the stage, the veins on his neck popping as he began screaming,

"What the fuck was that? This is supposed to be a fucking documentary not a fucking confession!"

"Here we go!" She thought as she observed the directors jaw working and his eyes flashing with anger as he towered over the two women.

"What the fuck Diane? You're the journalist!"

Diane immediately snapped out of her daze at his words,

"Calm down Max."

Santana chewed on her bottom lips as she met the intense stare of the other women. She really should not have gone about it the way that she had. It was not Diane's fault. It was she who was solely to blame. Holding up her hand, she laced her voice with sweetness as she spoke,

"Max, have you ever wanted one of those elusive awards up on your wall?"

He narrowed his eyes, focusing intently upon her. She allowed a smirk to play over her lips. She knew that she now had his full attention,

"Well my dear the story I am telling you can be used in so many different ways that if you have any skills as a director you may very well have an Oscar worthy documentary on your hands"

She winked at the reporter across from her.

"You arranged this?"

His eyes darted between the two women. Neither moved. He rounded on the journalist.

"Diane! You ever do something like this again I'll have your neck!"

The reporter continued to stare back at her,

"Fuck!"

The director screamed, running his hand through his dark hair as he stormed off, leaving the two women behind.

"Bloody hell, Santana! I knew it was juicy but I wasn't expecting this!"

Santana sat back observing the flicker of disbelief pass over the other woman's usually stoic features. Diane was renowned for being unshakable. She knew she had thrown the talk show host for six.

The interviewer studied her, muttering,

"This is going to be huge!" Diane shook herself. "I don't know about you but I could do with a smoke!"

"Me too." Santana agreed, knowing what was coming her way once they were alone.

Her eyes landed on the young stylist hovering in the wing. She beckoned him over,

"Bryan be a dear and help an old lady to her feet."

He stepped forward, offering his arm,

"I swear I was not eavesdropping Ms Perez."

He began helping the Hollywood icon rise stiffly to her feet.

"When my friends and I play 'How Many Gay's' we always get stuck on you and end up debating whether you play for our team. They owe me 20 bucks!"

Santana could not stop the deep laugh that shook all of her tiny frame. Diane silently came to her other side, helping to hold her steady as she gathered her legs beneath her. Bryan offered the actress her cane. She took it in her gnarled hand never letting go of the young stylist's arm as he fussed and smoothed out her dress.

"20 bucks? Really? You should of made it 50!"

"You're a wily rogue." He teased.

"More than you know!"

He guffawed at her comment. Straightening her shoulders, she set off with a spry spring her step.

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As she entered the safety of her dressing room a mixture of apprehension and relief washed over her. She retrieved her stylish black and white Chanel purse from beneath the small coffee table against the far wall. To hide her face she kept her back to the stylist and the journalist. Her hands began to shake as she placed a silver cigarette case, matching lighter and cigarette holder on the table.

She had to stay strong. If she broke now she would lose her nerve. She couldn't do that.

Not to Brittany.

Bryan immediately began to busy himself, checking the coffee maker for heat, cursing under his breath,

"God damn it! I told them to have it ready. That assistant is useless!"

She couldn't help but think how sweet the young man was as he politely asked,

"I'm heading to the cafeteria. Would you ladies like anything?"

"No thank you Bryan!" The reporter's curt reply felt like ice down her back.

"Ms Perez?"

She breathed in through her nose, exhaling slowly to steady the emotion in her voice, giving the young stylist a wan smile,

"Coffee. Strong and black, please my dear."

"Ok. I'll be back soon." He threw over his shoulder as he left.

She lowered herself into one of the armchairs, crossing her legs demurely at the ankle. She could feel the reporter watching her every move. The weight of unasked questions and curiosity radiated from her. The actress slowly removed a lady slim from the cigarette case, placing it in the holder with a deftness she was surprised she still possessed. She had not smoked properly in years.

"Once you learn a nervous habit, you never unlearn" She mused.

Lighting it, she allowed the smoke to fill her lungs, stalling the trepidation that coursed through her as she patiently waited for the questions that would surely come.

In an attempt to break the slight tension, she offered out her cigarette case.

Diane closed the distance between them, her delicate fingers teasing the white stick from its nesting place, leaning forward; she bowed her head, raising it to her lips, inhaling as Santana clicked the lighter.

Tendrils of smoke drifted into the room as they both exhaled.

She watched through hooded eyes, shielding them from the smoke as Diane took a bottle of Pellegrino from a small fridge in the corner of the room, kicking it closed with one expensive heel before returning to her previous spot, leaning against the make up table.

"Why didn't you warn me just how big this was going to be?" The taller brunette asked accusingly.

Santana took a long drag on her cigarette before replying,

"I did! I asked how far down the rabbit hole were you prepared to go!"

She could see the talk show host remembering all their late night phones calls, mapping out exactly what the interview would cover. Diane unbuttoned her blazer with annoyance,

"Still! You should have told me!"

"I didn't know if I could!" The Hollywood icon began to twirl the lighter between her fingers.

She had not known if she could take that risk. She had wanted the true story out there. She felt guilty at not being entirely honest. Over the last few months, she felt like she had got to know the world-renowned interviewer. Blindsiding her and causing her to be shouted at by her superior had been completely unprofessional and unfair.

"I could barely say it to myself." She admitted.

The reporter continued to eye her, her expression unfathomable.

"How far does it go?"

Santana flicked the ash from the tip into the ashtray, on the table beside her,

"All the way."

"Oh God!"

Diane opened the small bottle of water, swallowing half of it in one gulp.

"You know what this mean? Right?"

Santana nodded, watching the smoke as it rose and finally disappeared,

"I do!"

She had prepared herself, knowing that once she opened the floodgates there would be no turning back.

She could not! Even if she tried.

She knew the risks but she didn't care. For too long she had kept this to herself. The weight and the gravity of it all had become too much.

It was time.

"I hope you're ready?" was the soft reply.

She held Diane's almost mournful gaze. A steely determination filled her voice as she stated.

"Diane. I am an old woman. My career is long over. I have nothing to lose!"

She stubbed out her cigarette with ferocity. Decimating it with frustration,

"I will not leave this world without people knowing who she was!"

The reporter began,

"She was dear to you. I understand but…"

Santana balled her hands into fists. A fire ignited deep within her. Cutting off the other woman, she yelled,

"She was _more_ than dear to me! She was my everything! I would not be who I am if it wasn't for her. People need to know that!"

Diane ran her hand through her hair as she quietly replied,

"I just want to make sure your still on board for this? Once this comes out, things are going to get crazy. And you can kiss your self imposed seclusion goodbye!"

"I am!" Santana snapped.

An uneasy silence settled between them. Santana lit another cigarette.

The door burst open breaking the tension. Bryans tone was light and breezy as he announced,

"Ladies! I have returned."

"Thank small mercies!" Santana thought to herself. She had not liked the way the conversation had been going. Deep down, she knew she should not be angry with the reporter for being worried for her, but it irked her when people tried to take care of her. She had allowed only two people in her whole life do that and neither of them were alive any more.

He placed a take away cup on the table beside the retired singer,

"I know you said you didn't want anything but I got you a tea." Diane took the offered cup.

Unceremoniously he dumped sachets of sugar and stirrers from his pockets onto the table,

"I didn't know if either of you took sugar and they had no mugs." He added apologetically.

Santana ignored the other woman, instead she focused upon the task of adding sugar to her cup. Taking a sip, she winced at the bitter tasting liquid that mingled with the taste of the previous argument. She added another sugar.

"Thank you Bryan. It's perfect."

He plopped himself in the armchair beside her, looking between the two women.

"May I? He gestured to the box on the table.

"Help yourself my dear."

He took one, lighting it. Closing his eyes, he let out a moan,

"Ahhh! God I needed that!"

"What's happening upstairs?" She heard Diane ask.

"Max looks like he's about to blow a gasket!"

She flinched at his words. Guilt flooded her once more as she stirred her coffee, watching the light brown bubbles whirlpool. She knew what she must do. Diane deserved it.

"I'm truly sorry for everything Diane. I should of kept you in the loop." Sincerity filled her words. "I hope that you don't get into too much trouble."

The interviewer's features softened.

"Don't worry about it. He was only blowing smoke up my ass."

Santana watched as the brown-haired woman smiled into her cup.

"Once he realises what he has, he'll be singing our praises."

"Are we ok?" She ventured.

Forgiveness was all she could hope for after what had transpired. She fiddled with her dolphin pendent, anxious at Diane's answer, hoping she had not ruined their budding friendship. Diane had been right; things were about to get crazy and her allies were few and far between.

"We will be once I get my Pulitzer." Diane winked at her, smiling.

"Apology accepted," She thought as they both laughed at the reporter's confidence.

A look of confusion passed over Bryans features.

Suddenly the door banged open, breaking their revelry.

Max stood in the doorway, looking like he had been put through the wringer. His normally immaculate appearance, dishevelled. His hair stood in opposite directions, his shirt was crumpled and there was a light sheen at his brow.

"Oh nice to see someone is getting a giggle out of this." He snapped as his eyes raked over the three of them.

"You!" He pointed at the talk show host, "You got lucky this time! The higher ups have given the go ahead. It better be worth it!"

Diane observed him coolly. "It will be!"

"I want you back on set in 5!" He demanded, shooting them a glare before slamming the door behind him.

Santana rolled her eyes,

"No rest for the wicked eh?"

Pulling her purse onto her lap, she began to collect her belongings.

"Ms Perez?" Bryan asked hesitantly.

"Yes?"

She looked up into his green eyes. He swallowed.

"The dolphin pendent?"

"Yeah, I was wondering about that too."

She relaxed back into the chair.

Over the years, many had commented on the piece of jewellery she wore more religiously than Quinn had worn her golden crucifix. It had even become a joke between them both. Quinn praised God whilst she praised fish. Elation filled her. She could finally answer truthfully.

"I never take it off. It symbolises our first kiss." She played with it idly. "My first real kiss." She drifted off.

She remembered how her heart had hammered. The sound of it beating in her chest, like a bass drum, drowning out everything else. The over whelming anticipation as she tiptoed. She felt her hands twinge at the memory of how tight she had gripped the material of the shirt beneath them. The mixture of fear and embarrassment at how moist they had become. How every sense she possessed had seemed to stretch to its very limit. The smell of vanilla, still to this day was synonymous with the dancer. The sense of calm and the feeling of home as their lips had pressed together.

She could feel the ghosting of those soft lips upon hers, still.

"She tasted like Apples."

She snapped out of her memories once she realised that she was covered in goose bumps.

Both Diane and Bryan were staring at her with huge Bambi eyes. The young stylist let out an

"Awww!"

Gathering herself, she gripped her cane as she rose shakily to her feet,

"Come on you big softies. We better be going. I don't think our director can take any more excitement."

Diane sniggered as she fixed her appearance in the mirror. Bryan jumped up, clearing the mess that they had made.

"There all done." He gave one last critical look around the room before he offered his arm to the aging actress.

"Ms Perez?"

Santana eyed him with mischief,

"You really do remind me of someone. Especially, when you do that!"

She teased, enjoying the crimson that spread across his porcelain cheeks. She squeezed his arm,

"Don't worry; he was someone very special too!"

His face split into a beaming smile as they left the dressing room.

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Once back in the interview room she fought back the rising panic as everyone's eyes were upon her. Over the years, she had become accustomed to people staring at her but this was different, this time they knew. Whispered conversations hushed as they walked past. She held her head high. The only thing that belied the butterflies she felt in her tummy and the prickling heat she felt down her spine was how tightly she gripped Bryans arm. He gave the back of her hand a reassuring rub as they made their way across the brightly lit stage.

Making herself comfortable in her chair, she observed the room. As she waited for the onslaught of the 'crows', Bryan began putting finishing touches to her hair, making sure it was perfect.

She realised that there were a lot more people in the studio than before. Up in the seated area, a small audience had gathered. Max was deep in conversation and gesturing wildly to a man in an expensive suit that kept looking in her direction.

"Ms Perez. May I?"

She tore herself back. A girl dressed in black, holding a make up palette, stood, expectantly. The make up artist began to dab gently at her skin.

"Can I just say…"

She froze. She could feel Bryan stop what he was doing as he laid a gentle and protective hand upon her shoulder. She appreciated the comfort. Santana locked eyes with the young girl, daring her to continue.

"I, I think you're very brave" The girl stammered under the intense glare.

"No, my dear! Being brave is being honest with yourself and having the courage to be who you are, no matter the circumstances."

The make up artist continued her work quickly, as she rose to leave she added,

"I just hope that one day I can be brave too. Just like you."

Santana blinked. She had not been expecting that. Before she could reply, the girl had gone.

"Well what do you know Ms Perez? You've started a gay revolution." Bryan teased as he sprayed her hair with a flourish.

She caught Diane's smirk. Feigning annoyance, she slapped at Bryans hand.

"Oh shut up! The pair of you!"

They both giggled at her as he gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze before running off stage.

"Right, everybody places!" Max roared.

"On with the show. Are you ready Santana?" Diane whispered, leaning over the table.

She nodded. She was ready.

The lights dimmed.

"Ships of Time. Part 2!"

"Lights!"

"Camera!"

"Action!"


	11. Chapter 11

I would just like to say a huge thank you to everyone who followed or favourite and reviewed and to anyone else that is reading this. Your mails and messages are appreciated. In addition, I always love reading them. It lets me know im on the write track

I do not have a beta at the moment so any grammatical errors and spelling mistakes are my own. I apologise. I am looking for a beta so if any one is interested drop me a line.

You can also get in contact at my handle. Tumblr . com

Hope u like it.

**Disclaimer I do not own the Glee characters or Titanic **

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Chapter 11

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**Santana P.O.V**

_April 11th RMS Titanic Deck B _

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"Santana Elizabeth Lopez! Where have you been? We were worried sick!"

My Aunt screeched in greeting as I hurriedly entered our cabin.

"I can hardly go missing on a ship in the middle of the Atlantic!" I retorted.

Rachel rushed over and began quickly untying the laces that held the corset of my dress. I hastily started removing my clothes, tuning out my Aunt as she continued to scold me for my behaviour.

I had kissed her!

She had kissed me back!

At the feeling of her soft lips upon my own, electricity had coursed through me, causing the hairs on the nape of my neck to stand on end. My heart had beaten so fast I thought that it would burst. When our tongues had touched, the knot in my stomach tightened and the throb between my legs had intensified so much that it almost hurt. I had ceased to breath. I thought I would die right there with in her embrace.

I had never felt so alive!

The scent of vanilla was still upon my skin, surrounding me. My head swam with Brittany.

My Aunt wandered from the other room, attaching her earrings. She asked,

"Santana, are you even listening?"

"What?" I replied in irritation, wardrobe retrieving from my wardrobe a simple black off the shoulder full length dress with a small slit up the left hand side that reached to the knee. It was one of the few dresses that had survived the recent attack upon my wardrobe.

"I said we shall be late…" She stopped mid sentence, her eyes landing on the dress in my hands.

"Of all outfits why on earth would you choose that one?"

Ignoring her, I slipped it on over my undergarments. I could feel Rachel beginning to loop closed the buttons at the back.

"Rachel. I thought I told you to throw those types of outfits away?"

Before she could reply, I cut in,

"I told her not to!"

I grabbed a crimson sash, wrapping it round my waist and tying it in the style of the Spanish matadors, asking,

"What is wrong with it?"

"It's just so..!"

"It's just so what?" I challenged.

"Ethnic!"

She spat the word as if it was something tart she had tasted. Anger flared deep with in me. Taking from Rachel a crimson choker set with a small ruby. I exclaimed,

"Mios Dios!

In her eyes, I could do no right. What ever I chose would be wrong. Turning to the huge mirror, I clipped the choker into place, eying my aunt, via my reflection,

"This morning you chided me at bringing attention to my mixed heritage. As I can not pass for American I shall embrace my Spanish roots!"

Lacing my voice with sarcasm, adding,

"Or is that not to Richard's and your pleasing?"

I watched as she squirmed, struggling to answer. Rachel began attempting to affix a flower clip in my hair. My Aunt stepped into the room, hissing,

"It is not that simple!"

As I whirled round to face her, the pin of the hair clip dug into my scalp. I winced, cursing,

"Jesus Rachel!"

"Well if you would just stand still Miss!"

Rachel froze and the room fell silent at the slip in propriety. The four walls swelled with tension. My Aunt's face turned a shade of purple as she exploded,

"How dare you address her in that fashion? Know your place!"

Bowing her head, Rachel shrank before my eyes, clasping her hands so tight I could see the whites of her knuckles even beneath her sallow skin. I was sure she was crushing the flower with in them.

I briefly thought of Brittany. The dancer had taught me more in a day than my Aunt and my lessons had taught me in a lifetime. I had, had enough!

"Shut up!" I screamed, "Just shut up!"

Taking the flower clip from Rachel's shaking hands, I fixed it in my hair. I approached my shocked Aunt, spitting with venom,

"Status! Reputation! It means nothing without happiness!"

"There are rules!" She shouted back.

(Rules are there to be broken)

Taking a step towards me, my Aunt sighed in exasperation,,

"You don't understand!"

Placing my hands on my hips, I challenged,

"What don't I understand? Explain it to me?"

She touched my shoulder. I twisted away from her in frustration at her lack of answer as she addressed Rachel instead,

"I shall be having words with you later!"

"You shall do no such thing!" I snapped.

I turned to my childhood companion, reaching out to rub her shoulder, I gently raised her still bowed head with my finger. Her brown eyes where huge, brimming with unshed tears. She sniffed as I reassured her,

"You did nothing wrong"

My Aunt and I glared at each other. She began to gather her wrist purse and shoulder shawl, hardness filling her voice,

"What is wrong with you recently? I barely recognise you!"

I stormed over to my dresser,

"It's hard to recognise something you have refused to see!"

(How could she not?)

"Santana!"

"Leave!" I demanded.

I shook with barely contained rage. Picking up the picture of my father, mother and I, I attempted to steady myself as I growled,

"Leave before I do or say something we both shall regret"

Sweeping out of the door, she sneered,

"Make sure you get yourself under control before you join us. I shall not have your petulant dramatics humiliating your fiancé and I."

Screaming, I flung the photograph in her direction where it broke against the solid door. Rachel rushed to pick up the shattered picture frame, blubbering,

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

Gently touching her wrist, I took it from her trembling hands,

"You have nothing to apologise for."

Shaking the excess glass from the broken frame into the wastebasket, I wiped the photograph with my sash. Staring into the happy family that grinned back at me, I struggled to control my emotions. I remembered how happy I had been when it had been taken. The only other time I had experienced feeling like that was when I was with Brittany.

Composing myself, I murmured,

"Rachel, please will you return this to my picture box? I do not wish to risk it damage."

Placing it on the dresser, I tried to fight the feeling of my very soul being sucked from my grasp. I felt that my Aunt and Richard were nothing more than succubae, waiting to feed and fatten up on my distress.

(She dances on the silence!)

I would not allow it!

That they were trying to take from me every flicker of light I possessed.

(She dances with the shadows!)

It belonged to me!

I thought of Brittany and my heart swelled.

(She SEES!)

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**Brittany P.O.V**

_April 11th RMS Titanic. Third Class Dining Saloon_

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I skipped along the passageways, barely able to contain my excitement. I had previously checked Puck and Kurt's cabin and on finding it empty, I had decided to try the Third Class Dining Salon on the Port side of deck F

Worming my way through the crowd, I searched for my two companions. The white painted room was huge. Either side of me were long tables with richly decorated chairs with spindles and arm rests. People had pulled over chairs, squashing up against each other so they could sit with their friends and families. I peered into the sea of faces, hoping to catch a glimpse of some one I recognised. At the far end, a huge queue ran along the wall, assuming it was the serving queue I went to join it.

Voyagers called to each other in a multitude of different languages, children ran amongst the sea of legs, chasing one another whilst their mothers screamed after them. Somebody somewhere had started up a jaunty tune with a fiddle and a whistle. Young men wrestled and laughed amongst themselves. It felt like the start of a show in the smaller penny houses. I breathed in. It smelt and felt familiar.

"Blondie! Blondie!" I heard Puck's voice, barely distinguishable over the din. "Over here!"

I spun round. He stood at a far table, waving his cap over his head. Pushing my way through the tightly packed crowd, I made it to the table.

Squashed between a burly looking man covered in, what I thought was either grease or soot and a scowling older woman, Puck and Kurt sat happily eating their dinner. I found myself looking down into a small freckled face with a shock of red hair. I ruffled it,

"Hello John"

He turned, beaming up at me,

"Hi Miss Brittany!"

I giggled. His "Miss" had come out sounding like "Miff". In losing a tooth, he had gained a lisp. It was adorable.

"You lost a tooth?" I exclaimed in excitement.

"I did!" His gappy smile broadened with pride. "Ma says I'm getting my grown up teeth now!"

I feigned surprise,

"Is that so?"

He began pulling on the sleeve at the woman beside him.

"Ma! Ma!"

She turned to her son, speaking with a melodious Irish lilt,

"I am not a sheep John"

She had the same flame red hair as the young boy, except hers was long and flowing. She looked around my age. She held a small toddler on her lap. Smiling up at me in recognition her freckles danced across her face,

"Hello!"

I gestured to John,

"May I?"

"Sure!" She poked the man the other side of John with her spoon,

"Move your chair over and make room so she can get in, you brute. Did your Ma never teach you any manners? Be moving!"

The hulking man she had poked looked at me, shuffling his chair over, creating a small gap, mumbling in embarrassment.

"Pay no heed to her. My Ma taught me just fine. I was raised not reared."

"Could have been fooling me Tommy Callaghan?" The small Irish woman quipped.

Tommy pulled out the chair, making the gap a little wider. Taking John in my arms, I slipped through the small space between the two chair arms, depositing him in my lap. Wiggling back into me, he made himself comfortable. Tommy and John's mother were still going at it. Across from me, Puck laughed at them both.

"Padraig, get a handle on your woman there!"

"Not a hope Tommy. I like my wife fiery. It's why I married her. The fact she makes a mean fry had nothing to do with it. I like her just the way she is!"

The man the other side of John's mother gave her a squeeze round the waist causing her to squeal and blush as he stole kisses. The small toddler in her lap clapped and gurgled. The scowling lady's features softened a little at the display of affection.

"Here get that down you." Puck pushed a white fancy plate, with pictures at the edges, full of food towards me.

I had never seen plates like it.

"We didn't know what you liked so we just took a guess." Kurt added, handing me a silver steel knife and fork.

I had only ever used tin. I marvelled. It was all so posh. Hunger won out. I took it, gratefully.

"Thanks. I'm famished."

I truly was. I had not eaten properly since we had boarded. The plate was piled with generous amounts of potatoes, peas and carrots. I could see two thick slices of lamb poking out from beneath, all of it, smothered in gravy. Kurt handed me a plate piled with thick slabs of generously buttered bread. It was a feast!

John's little chubby hands darted out, grabbing two slices as I began to pass it along. He dumped a slice on my plate. Tommy passed me a glass,

"Here you go little lady."

I thanked him. Turning to John's mother, I asked,

"Please may I have the water?"

She immediately called up the table,

"Oi, you bad mannered eejits, pass the water! You would think it was Guinness the way you're hogging it up there!"

"Ahhh lass we would prefer if it was!" Someone replied, the whole table erupted in gales of laughter as they passed it from one another until it landed in front of me. John reached for it with his small hands,.

"Can I? " He asked, "It's what a gentleman."

Squeezing his sides, I tickled him for his cuteness. He squealed in delight. Reaching out, his little pink tongue poked out at the side of his mouth as he struggled to lift the full jug.

"How about, I lift the jug and you hold my glass steady whilst I pour?" I asked.

A look of disappointment crossed his face,

"But Miss Brittany, my Da taught me that a gentleman always serves a lady!"

Kurt reassured him,

"You're still a gentleman if you hold the glass John."

"Ok Mr Hummel."

His wrapped his two little hands round the base of the glass, his mother watching fondly, as his tiny face scrunched up in concentration, holding it steady. I poured out the water, pretending to spill it, making John hold on tighter. I then topped up his little cup. Letting go, he went back to his dinner.

The flame haired Irish woman beside me chuckled,

"Our John has taken quite the shine to you Brittany! I'm Orla."

She held out a pale slender hand. I took it, gently shaking it, not wishing to crush her in my own.

"Nice to meet you"

"He's been talking about you non stop. Isn't that so John?"

The little boy in my arms went quiet. Orla winked at me, conspiratorially,

"I think you might be his first crush?"

I stifled a laugh, watching his freckles disappear into a sea of crimson.

"I would be honoured and very lucky to have a gentleman like John here."

He flushed darker still and began to attempt to cut his meat. Pulling my plate closer I began to eat,

"Oh my God!" I moaned.

It was divine. It truly was! I had never tasted such delicious food in my life. The potatoes were creamy and the carrots just soft enough. The gravy was thick and full of flavour, unlike the thin, watery, fatty mixture to which I was accustomed. Puck grinned at me.

"Something else isn't it Blondie?"

I nodded in agreement, unable to speak as I wolfed down my peas.

"I think this is the only time we have ever heard her be quiet." Kurt teased.

Puck joined in,

"Yup, this is what you've been missing whilst you've been gallivanting with the big wigs."

I began coughing and spluttering on my peas. A hefty hand slapped me on the back, winding me. I felt my face burning and my eyes watering as I gasped for air. Tommy continued to rub my back with his huge bear like hand,

"That's what I like to see, a girl with an appetite! Mind you, you might want to remember to breathe though!"

I scrabbled for my glass of water. Drinking it greedily, rivulets of water dribbled down my chin.

"You ok now?" He asked.

I nodded, the huge man returned to eating his meal. As I attempted to wipe my chin with my hand, I noticed Puck, Kurt and Orla trying to hide the amusement from their faces,

"What?" I asked.

Kurt continued to eat his dinner, daintily nibbling on a slice of bread, occasionally shooting sidelong glares at the scowling woman beside him, every time she jostled his elbow. Puck wiggled his eyebrows at me. I stuck out my tongue, then turned to my attention Orla,

"So who is this?" I asked, crossing my eyes and sticking out my tongue at the small toddler in her arms.

Bouncing the small bundle in her lap, she cooed,

"This little treasure is Bethany."

Bethany gurgled at her name, banging her spoon against her mother's plate, splashing gravy everywhere. She began attempting to scoop some potato. I gave her a little tickle, causing her to squeal in delight. In her excitement, she flung her spoonful of potato across the table where it splattered all over Kurt's waistcoat. John inhaled,

" Arrghh, your in trouble now!"

I stifled a giggle at Kurt's expression of shock and disbelief. He looked between the offending potato and the little blonde cherub across from him, who happily continued to play with her dinner with her trusty spoon and tiny hand.

"This is French!" He exclaimed.

Padraig joked,

"Calm down Nancy boy. It's only a bit of potato."

Kurt and Puck visibly tensed. Padraig shook out his handkerchief, offering it over the table,

"Here you go. That should get it off."

Both boys relaxed at the gesture. Reaching out, Kurt took it graciously. Orla apologised,

"I'm sorry Mr Hummel."

"Its ok. It's fine." Kurt gave a wan smile as he dabbed at his waistcoat, "It's only a little potato."

I wondered what he would really say once he was back at his cabin, being a 'clothes snob' and all. Grease was awful to get out of clothes. I continued to eat my dinner imagining what a clothes snob would be like. Would they not like certain shirts?

John's voice brought me out of my daydreams of dancing shirts and trousers. Spearing a piece of lamb with his fork, he asked,

"Miss Brittany, do you believe in the Tooth Fairy?" He speared a piece of lamb,

Mopping up my gravy with a thick slice of bread, I replied,

"I do! Do you?"

He nodded,

"I do! But Ma says they only come to girls and boys that are on land!"

His face filled with disappointment,

"I thought they were magic?"

I reassured him.

"They are John."

Fishing into the pocket of his little grey waistcoat,

"I even kept my tooth and all."

Opening up his hand, he showed me the tiny tooth in his palm

"Look!"

"John!" Orla chided, "Not at the dinner table!"

Dumping the small tooth on the table in a huff, he started,

"But Ma.."

"John!" His father warned.

I munched on my bread thoughtfully as I watched his parents shift uncomfortably, sharing a pained look. An idea struck me. Leaning behind the small boy, I whispered in Orla's ear. Her cheeks flushed. She looked at her son with her huge green eyes before turning to her husband. I mopped up the remnants of my dinner from my plate with my last piece of bread as they had a hushed conversation. I caught Padraig's eye, who gave me an awkward nod. Popping the last of my bread in my mouth, I chewed slowly to savour the rich flavours. Puck, Kurt and the scowling woman watched us with interest. I reached for a discarded napkin and began wiping my hands as Padraig addressed his son,

"John, show the teacher there how smart you are. Tell him all the counties of Ireland in alphabetical order"

Kurt looked at Padraig in surprise,

"I'm not a teacher." He began.

"Could have fooled me with the way you were yesterday. If you're not, I think you missed your calling lad!"

Orla agreed,

"They'll be screaming out for someone of your talents in America."

Kurt blushed.

I patted my trouser pocket. Feeling the familiar shapes, I worked my fingers between the layers of material. John waved the fork of lamb as he began to list the counties of his homeland. Puck watched me in confusion as I slyly slipped the tooth from the table, replacing it with a half penny. Kurt and his father continued to question the small boy.

In the brief moment that the forgotten lamb stayed still, I leant forward, sneakily swallowing it from the fork. Puck struggled to keep a straight face at my antics.

Finishing naming all the counties, I had not known such a small island could have so many, he turned to his fork and began searching the area around his plate.

"My tooth!" He began to wail.

He stopped when his eyes landed on the coin. Clasping it in his hand, he began straining his head up and down the table. He tried to see behind his mother, looking for the elusive Tooth Fairy. Bursting with excitement, he kicked his little legs, exclaiming,

"Ma! Ma! Look! The Tooth Fairy came!"

Waving the small bronze coin, he suddenly became suspicious,

"I thought you said they don't like water?"

I hugged him round the middle,

"This was an extra brave and special one, sent just for you."

Orla bopped him on the nose. We all watched as he contemplated my answer. He looked at his fork, grumbling,

"Cheek of her though! Stealing my lamb! I would have shared if she asked!"

We all burst into fits of laughter. Puck slapped the table as he stood up.

"Give us your plates. It's dessert time!"

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**Santana P.O.V.**

_April 12th. RMS Titanic., First Class Dining Saloon._

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Entering the First Class Dining Saloon, I was directed, immediately, to a table in the centre of the room. Once more, I would be dining with the Fabrays, my Aunt, Richard, Mr Evans and Amelie. My dinner guests where yet to arrive and there was no sign of Quinn.

Arriving at the table unnoticed I quickly slipped myself into the seat between Sam and Amelie. Richard threw me a withering glance as he gestured to the seat between himself and my Aunt. I ignored him. No doubt, they had talked and I did not wish to sit in hours of torture beside either of them. If Sam was surprised at my choice in placement at the table, he did not show it; instead, his huge lips broke into a wide grin,

"Miss Lopez, I hear you went exploring the ship?"

I returned his grin,

"I did Mr Evans. It is quite an extraordinary feat of engineering."

"Please call me Sam. Mr Evans is my father."

To add insult to my Aunt and Richard's injury, I dropped all formality,

"I shall. As long as you promise to call me Santana?"

He blushed slightly,

"Of course, Miss Santana."

His face lit up like a small child's as he continued,

"Mr Andrews took me to see the engines and the armoury."

Quinn arrived looking flustered, cutting off my reply,

"My dear, where have you been?" Her mother chided.

Quinn's cold eyes flickered between my fiancé and I. Richard jumped up to pull out her chair in a display of manners. It was more than he ever did for me. She smirked, graciously seating herself. I kept my expression fixed. I had expected a reaction to my slight of taking her place. Acceptance was not it. She reached for the menu,

"The maid ruined my dress. I had to change."

"Shall I take the price of the dress from her pay, Pumpkin?" Russell slurred.

Disregarding her father's offer with a wave of her hand, she continued to study the menu. Her voice was light,

"No Papa. Fire her when we dock."

"But darling.." Judy began.

"Without references!" She added, coldly.

The famous Quinn Fabray cruelty.

Sam shifted uncomfortably in the seat beside me. Her callousness shook me to my very core. I could not help but feel sorry for the maid. From what Rachel had told me, dismissing a maid without references was to quintessentially send her to the bread line or worse, the bone yard.. To be left in a foreign land with no prospect of work would be terrifying. Over a dress? I made a mental note to ask Rachel to find the maid and make her a counter offer.

"Rightly so! You just can't find the help these days!" My Aunt trilled.

I scowled at her. In an attempt to change the conversation, Amelie gestured to the two unoccupied seats besides Sam and Judy,

"Are we expecting more guests?"

"Well. Well. If it isn't the Peacock and the Shrew?"

Both my Aunt and Judy visibly blanched at the words. Trying to hide her surprise, my Aunt let out a strangled,

"Susan?"

Judy suddenly became interested in the details on the handles of the silver cutlery. The whole table turned to see who was the owner of the voice, that showed no hesitation at insulting someone in front of polite company.

Behind me stood a tall woman with short blond hair that was styled to sit behind one ear. Her top lip curled up into a sneer. It was difficult to tell her age. She wore a two-piece dress suit, much like the one I had worn when I arrived on the Titanic, except hers was a light blue with a white pin stripe running through it. To hold her shirt collar in place, she wore a silk midnight blue tie. Beside her, almost dwarfed in her shadow, stood a small, considerably younger, bespectacled gentleman wearing a black evening tuxedo, a midnight blue dickey bow that complimented his wife's outfit and an incredible smile. He had the bushiest eyebrows I had ever seen.

A waiter came forward.

"Sir. Madam. These seats are reserved for guests of the table."

The blond woman rounded on him.

"I am Sue Sylvester and this is my husband Blaine Anderson. We have been invited to dine with a Miss Santana Lopez. This is the table we were directed to or is your colleague an imbecile like every other member of staff on this ship?"

It was as if a steel rod had been inserted into my spine at her mention of my name. I jumped to attention, offering my hand,

"That would be me."

She looked at it in disdain. Standing back, she placed her hands in her pockets, sweeping her steely blue eyes over me. I felt like a soldier at inspection. Under her scrutiny, I stood tall and straightened my posture. I felt an over whelming need to impress her.

"You would look better in red." She stated matter of a factly

Allowing my eyes to travel over her appearance, I saw her left foot shift. I realised that she was not wearing a dress suit skirt but, in fact, a rather flared pair of trousers, tailored to give the illusion of a skirt. Taken a back, I gasped,

"Your outfit is incredible!"

"Of course it is! I commissioned it myself!" She declared.

"But Mrs Sylvester – Anderson, they are trousers?"

Apart from Brittany, I had never seen another woman wear such mannish attire. She looked at me as if I was stupid.

"You might as well drop the Anderson, Esmeralda! Nobody here is under any illusions"

Sam moved over to sit next to Judy. Sue removed her jacket, draping it over the chair beside mine,

"I would have married myself if I could of got away with it."

Her husband moved round the table shaking everybody's hands enthusiastically, repeating,

"Blaine Anderson. Nice to meet you! Blaine Anderson. Nice to meet you!"

He eventually seated himself besides his wife.

"Santana!" My Aunt reproached.

Sue looked between my Aunt and I, muttering beneath her breathe,

"Lopez? Lopez?" Recognition filled her face as she asked, "Your Elizabeth's daughter?"

"Si!" I replied.

"You look like her. It's in the face. You defiantly have her eyes. I was sorry to hear that she passed."

"You knew her?" I exclaimed in disbelief.

The only people that spoke to me of my mother were my father, who told me stories of her wild spirit, and my Aunt, who only complained about how foolish she had been.

"I knew all three of them in their younger days."

Quinn and I looked at one another, perplexed. Sue swept her hand through her hair,

"Hard to believe, I know, being that I don't look a day older than 30."

Amelie coughed and spluttered beside me. Sue fixed the French girl with a pointed stare, who shrunk beneath it, before she continued,

"Elizabeth was my favourite. Voice of an angel. If I recall correctly she was very talented. It was such a waste. Isn't that right Peacock?"

"It does not do to talk of the dead." My Aunt quipped with anger, fiddling with her glass of wine.

I took great pleasure in my Aunt's discomfort. Sue began to inspect her empty wine glass,

"The last I had heard, you had high tailed it with Liz and her husband to Europe."

She began to wipe the rim of the glass with her napkin, keeping the same tone,

"Can't say I'm surprised after …"

(After what?)

My Aunt turned almost purple. The vein on her forehead stood out. Slapping her hand on the table, she snarled,

"The past is the past!"

Judy looked like she needed to pass a football. Russell downed his champagne in one and began gesturing wildly, with his glass, to a nearby waiter for a refill. Quinn looked just as confused as I felt.

A flurry of waiters stepped forward and began to serve caviar.

I was intrigued. What exactly had my high and mighty Aunt done in order to leave America in what I could only assume was disgrace? She had always maintained a hatred of Spain, behaving as if it was a prison sentence imposed upon her by my mother, rather than a choice.

My initial invitation had been more out of curiosity and a wish to annoy my Aunt. I could not have imagined this. I noticed a hint of a smirk playing upon Sue's lips. Quinn and I shared a look. We hung on the woman's every word, mutually willing her to continue. Her eyes never leaving the two older women, she waved her glass in the air, catching the attention of a waiter. He stepped forward, filling her glass and topping up mine. I thanked him and turned my attention back to Sue,

"How?" I started.

She patted me absently on my knee,

"Another time, perhaps?"

Taking my left hand, she began inspecting the ring on my finger.

"How ever, if you are half as talented as your mother and wish to be in control of your own destiny I would have no qualms in offering you a job."

Richard looked furious, spitting,

"No wife of mine shall take employment! I am more than capable of taking care of any of her needs!"

Dropping my hand with a brief look of disappointment, she candidly replied,

"Caveman, in the experience I have gathered from extensively travelling the world, there are some women who have needs that most certainly can not be taken care of by a man!"

All eyes, except Sue's, swivelled to Blaine. Engrossed in a waiter bent over at the next table, he was oblivious. Sam nearly choked on his champagne and Amelie tittered. Numerous self-conscious coughs could be heard around the table. Sue did not seem to care.

(Rules are there to be broken)

Another flock of waiters descended, taking our orders and once more filling our glasses.

"What exactly is it you do, Ms Sylvester?" Quinn inquired, nibbling daintily on her caviar.

Sue did not miss a beat,

"Besides being magnificent?"

I giggled, finding her unwavering self confidence refreshing.. She took a sip of her wine, contemplating her answer,

"How shall I put it? I am, essentially, a collector of talent. Singers, dancers and actors. We are actually on our way to New York to meet with one or two talent agencies before heading to our studio in California."

"Charlatans and working girls." Judy snipped.

"Artists, Leather lips!" Sue snapped, angrily.

"Why?" Amilie asked.

"I didn't know horses could talk?"

Amilie's nostrils flared, very much like a horse. I stifled my giggle at Sue's accurate description. Sue did not seem to care or notice,

"All right Glenside, I do not expect you to understand as you are obviously dumb and probably as you are used to being told what to do by a midgets, I shall explain it to you, but only because I wish you to know of my achievements."

She continued,

"People, regardless of how much or how little they earn, shall pay their last cents to watch a fleeting dream come to life on the stage or screen, just for a moment, so they can escape their pathetic lives. I, for one, am ready to take advantage of the fact!"

Quinn, satisfied with her answer, turned to Blaine,

"What is it that you do, Mr Anderson?"

The small man, who had remained quiet throughout the whole conversation, looked up from cleaning his glasses, bewildered. I got the impression he was not used to being called upon to give his opinion. He timidly began,

"I used to direct and produce stage shows. Now I'm focusing that energy into the moving pictures."

Leaning back in his chair, Richard sneered,

"I can not see much money to be made from that?"

"On the contrary, Mr Hartley. I believe the moving picture have the potential to be huge."

Breathing his lenses, he began rubbing the glasses with his handkerchief, focusing on the task.

"When you were a small boy, did you ever imagine what it would be like to be a cowboy? Are not hundreds and thousands of people all over the world, right now, imagining what it would be like to be here? What it is like to be us? If you will, be a part of our stories?" He paused, "No matter how romantic or tragic?"

Neatly popping his glasses back on, he returned his handkerchief to his breast pocket.

"Now imagine, Mr Hartley, if one was able to open that door and show those hundreds and thousands of people, a peek? Each one of them with a coin in their pocket, eagerly willing to hand it over just for a glimpse of those experiences and imaginings, there by paying, for allowing them to be part of it in some small way."

Leaning forward he rested his elbows on the table, steepling his fingers,

"The moving pictures can tell the story of the richest man and show his miserly ways. On the other hand, it can show the world, doomed star crossed lovers. Love, tragedy and triumph affect us all, Mr Hartley, regardless of our social standing. The moving pictures are the perfect medium with which to convey these stories. They do not demand that you be educated, rich or poor, man or woman. All they ask is that you watch and listen. They have no boundaries or rules as to who should have access to them. I, for one, believe that they have the power to be universal!"

We all sat in silence. I was stunned at the profound way in which the small man had made his point.

Quinn's expression became like a cat about to play with its prey, her tinkly voice coated in feigned sweetness, she asked,

"Selling dreams and stories! How is it you have means to travel?"

Sue fixed her with a steely stare,

"Unholy Mary, if you must know, my husband and I are in the business of Jewels and Gold. We have extensive mines in Africa where I am praised as their Deity."

Richard smugly slapped the table,

"Now that's a proper occupation. I knew the money had to come from somewhere!"

Russell raised his glass, booming,

"A toast to dreams and imagination!"

We all raised our glasses to the toast,

"Here, Here."

The waiters arrived with our main course and more champagne. I unfurled my napkin, placing it on my lap, allowing a small smirk to creep across my face. Between my Aunt and Judy's discomfort, Russell Fabray's intoxication and Sue's insults, it was turning out to be an entertaining evening indeed.

X

X

X

**Brittany P.O.V**

_April 11th. RMS Titanic. Third Class General Room._

_X_

After our dessert of plum pudding and cream, Puck had decided that I needed to see the Third Class General Room. He said that it was where everyone came after dinner and entertained themselves for the evening.

When we arrived, it was already quite full with men, women and children. It was large and spacious. The walls where white, decorated with brightly coloured posters advertising other White Star Ships and the other countries to which they sailed. Slattered, wooden benches dotted the walls.

I couldn't believe it. I had been to gatherings before but they had only consisted of who ever had been working in the music hall at the end of a season or show. It had been nothing like this.

In the far corner, a group of passengers had created a rag tag band, out of their own instruments. They all looked like they where from different countries. I could hear accordions, spoons, washboards, drums and fiddles, all melding together into a fast paced, jovial tune.

I clapped my hands together and bounced on the balls of my feet in excitement when I saw the small dancing area in the centre of the room, surrounded by small round tables with small, brown, wooden stools. Women and men danced, arms linked, spinning round and round, faster and faster until they let each other go and spun into a new partner, to start it all again.

Taking my hand, Puck pulled me to an unoccupied table. He shouted over the noise,

"I thought you might like it!"

Sitting down, he produced a deck of cards,

"So Blondie, what's going on between you and Ms La De Da?"

Kurt gave me a look of disapproval,

"Yes Miss Brittany. What is going on between you and Miss Santana?

I felt my cheeks burn as I thought of Santana's silken lips upon mine. The way her teeth had nipped at my lips and how she had felt as she pressed herself against me.

"Miss Brittany?" Kurt asked, dragging me from my thoughts.

Puck roared with laughter,

"With a blush like that, something defiantly happened! Come on tell us!"

Picking at the table, I mumbled,

"We played Pocahontas."

Puck waggled his eyebrows, lewdly,

"Pocahontas? Is that what your lot call it?"

I blushed, reaching for the cards. They where bent and dogged eared from use. I began shuffling them, slipping them into pre thought allotted places like I had been taught to do. I split them into three piles, stacking them on top of each other. I did not wish to share anything of Santana.

She had told me things.

Private things.

Puck drummed on the table with his fingers, grinning at me,

"Well if you won't tell me of your own accord, maybe beer will loosen your tongue? Back in a few."

I absently started to lay out the cards into rows of four in order of suit and number.

I wondered what she was doing now? Why had she kissed me? Was it a moment of madness, a need for comfort in her depths of grief at everything she faced?

My fingers lingered on the Queen of Hearts. I could feel Kurt's eyes upon me. I heard him clear his throat,

"Miss Brittany, I do not mean to pry, but what are you doing to yourself?"

We sat in silence. I turned the remnants of the deck in my hands, savouring the smoothness,

"We kissed." I breathed

I looked up at Kurt. His eyes burnt with fury. All around us people laughed and toasted. The band changed the song. He picked up the Jack of Knaves as he spoke, his voice so low it was barely audible,

"Miss Brittany, I warned you. It does not do to tangle with the upper classes in that way."

He caressed the card with his thumb,

"She was wearing a ring, which means she is betrothed!"

"She hates him! She's lonely and miserable!"

Proceeded to stroke the card, he asked harshly,

"And when the boat docks or it all goes wrong, where shall that leave you?"

I had to make him understand.

"She just wants to be free Kurt."

He scoffed,

"Free? Non of us are ever free! You're a sweet girl Brittany, but what do you expect to happen?"

His faced flushed with anger as he growled,

"Do you honestly think she shall walk away from all of her jewels, pretty dresses and security to run away and play happy families?"

I shook my head. I had no expectations. All I knew is that with her it felt right, that somehow we were meant to meet.

His fingers trembled as his voice took on an edge of bitterness,

"You and me." He gestured to us, "We can live behind closed doors, be mistaken for bachelors and spinsters and if we are careful, go about our daily lives, but them,"

He paused, letting out a puff of air,

"They are different!"

His shoulders dropped, defeated,

"They go to balls with their wives, whilst hiding mistresses in kept apartments and when they are done…"

He stared out into the room. I did not know what I would do but I did know that Santana was sweet and kind. She was not like the people he knew. Laying out more cards, I said, softly,

"She's not like that."

He slipped the Jack of Knaves between the King and Queen,

"For your sake I hope you're right."

Rubbing my hand, he looked at me with sincerity,

"I just don't want to see you get hurt."

The sound of three full glasses, slamming on the table heralded Puck's return, jolting us out of our melancholy,

"What's that about someone hurting Blondie?" He handed me a pint, "I'll flatten them into next week!"

"Psssht, shut up! You can barely fight your way out of a laundry sack." Kurt teased, all remnants of our previous conversation disappearing.

Puck puffed up his chest,

"I can too!"

Taking the stance of a boxer, he began jabbing at imaginary opponents. I took a sip of the light brown liquid,. It tasted better than the ale I had drank with Millie and her fiancé.

"There's no bits in it?" I asked.

Puck stopped dancing,

"There's not meant to be bits in it, Blondie!"

Kurt sighed,

"Oh boy!"

I took another gulp, crinkling my nose at the bubbles,

"But the bits are the best part!"

They both stared at me open mouthed. I hid my smirk in my pint glass as I took another gulp. Kurt took a dainty sip of his own,

"My dear Brittany, what have they been feeding you?"

Puck downed a quarter of his pint

"Madame Carmellota doesn't usually let me drink?"

Puck stopped downing his pint at my admission,

"Why not?"

He took another long drink. Shrugging, I replied,

"I tend to take my clothes off."

He spat his mouthful all over the table and began to cough and splutter.

"What did you say?"

I eyed him mischievously,

"I said I tend to get naked when I'm drunk!"

A gleam came into his eye as he swamped the rest of his pint,

"I'm off to get some more beers."

Kurt groaned,

"Oh Jesus, why did you have to tell him that? He'll be buying you beer for the night now."

I winked at him, grinning,

"I always sleep naked after a few drinks. Don't you?"

Kurt let out a cackle,

"Oh Miss Brittany, you little scoundrel?"

I feigned innocence,

"What? I never said and he never asked where I take my clothes off!"

X

X

X

**Santana P.O.V **

X

The more I talked to Sue, the more I liked her.

During our main meal, she had proceeded to, unabashedly, insult, everyone at the table. She had even gone so far as to call Quinn a pious harpy and asked if Russell Fabray missed his real family. As everybody gasped at the insinuation, she had added that she was sure the whales did not want him anyway.

She was ill mannered, uncouth, defied all by wearing what she pleased and was very much in control of herself, everybody else being damned. She was incredible.

My Aunt had continued to behave peevishly throughout the main course, replying to any conversation sent her way, in a terse manner. Judy had sat in an almost trance like state, picking at her food, almost as if she did not know it was there.

Quinn and I, in an unspoken truce, had listened intently, hoping to catch some sort of clue as to why our normally bossy and opinionated elders were behaving they way they were in this woman's presence. Amelie remained quiet throughout, not wishing to incur the woman's wrath or any more comments comparing her to other famous racehorses.

As we waited for our desserts to arrive, Sue turned her steely eyes upon me.

"So you did not know I knew your mother? You do not know my husbands work?"

She gestured to my Aunt and Judy with her fork,

"Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Idiot, over there, never mentioned me before. Up until today, you had never heard of me, which I find impossible unless, of course, you have had your head stuffed in the dirt, which by the looks of you is highly probable. So why, Miss Lopez, did you invite me to dinner? Were you hoping some of my brilliance would rub off on you?"

She raised her eyebrow in question. I tried not to quail beneath her intense stare,

"Ms Sylvester, I must confess, you're correct."

She scoffed,

"Of course I am! I am always right! Members of Government ask me for advice. Do you know I once single handily negotiated a peace treaty between Cecil Rhodes and the people of the Transvaal?"

(That can't be right?)

Sam's huge mouth dropped open and Quinn's eyebrows disappeared into her hairline at her admission. Slightly unnerved, I pressed on,

"As I was saying, up until this morning I had not heard of you but I was intrigued when I heard of the altercation you were involved in."

She straightened in her chair, drawing herself to her full height. Even sitting beside me she seemed to loom.

"What of it, Rosie Lee?" She snapped.

I opened my mouth to speak. I could not find the words in my terror. Richard filled my silence.

"Did you acquire her in Africa, is what she wants to ask don't you sweet pea?"

Sue's eyes narrowed to pin points, skewering me to my seat. I imagined the temperature at the table dropping a few degrees, causing me to shiver. I shook my head profusely, stammering,

"No. No! Not at all!"

She replied icy,

"Unlike your Grey back supporting future fiancé, I do not see people as possessions. I do not _acquire_ people; I employ them and give them opportunities!"

"That is not what I was going to ask!" I declared, trying to steady my trembling hands.

Russell waved his wine glass,

"I have heard the people of Africa are savages. They eat their own like beasts!"

Quinn pinched the bridge of her delicate nose. Once more, we sat in stunned silence. Inwardly I roared with laughter, taking delight in Quinn's awkwardness at her father's boorish behaviour. To say such things behind closed doors was one thing, to announce them in public was quite another.

Sue's features darkened as she growled,

"You over grown, pompous Walrus! I find beasts come in many forms and usually the most dangerous are the ones that sit and smile at you from across the dinner table as they indulge themselves. They are the ones who beat their wives mercilessly or leave their workers without enough wages to feed themselves."

Russell thumped the table with his fist. Judy flinched and Quinn stiffened as he roared,

"What are you insinuating, woman?"

The tables around us fell noticeably silent, straining to hear our conversation. I felt hundreds of eyes fixing upon us in curiosity, craning to see what had caused the outburst.

Sue, unperturbed, calmly replied,

"Nothing, Mr Fabray. I am simply stating a fact!"

A waiter began approaching our table as Sue and a bleary eyed, ruddy faced; Russell Fabray continued to glare each other. It was like watching a mongoose and a very old snake. I could see it was only a matter of time.

The waiter bent to talk in Richard's ear. They proceeded to have a hushed conversation. Satisfied, the waiter waved over his colleagues, who began to refill our glasses. The other guests returned their attention back to their own tables. Breathing a sigh of relief, I took a thankful sip of my wine.

Sam attempted to break the tension

"So Ms Sylvester, your maid, where is she from?"

Her eyes never leaving the inebriated man, she responded.

"Jones is American. She is one of the most diligent and trust worthy _human beings_ I have had the pleasure of meeting. Present company included. I demand loyalty and excellence from all my employees at all times. Jones is no exception!"

Sam covered his glass with his hand, shaking his head at the waiter,

"I agree with you Ms Sylvester!"

Leaning past her husband, she hissed,

"And what would you know about the working man Duck Face?"

"I work on the rigs with my guys."

Quinn gasped at his confession,

"What?"

Richard placed a hand to her shoulder, as he mocked,

"Hardly the work of a Gentleman, is it?"

I glared at my future husband. How dare he insult Sam for wanting to know his employees? My father had done the same, working heavily in the vineyards when he was not travelling or meeting potential clients. It was honest, working along side your men. His insinuation riled me, I retorted,

"As opposed to sitting in high backed chairs, hidden away, drinking and smoking, pretending to be Masters of the Universe?"

"Santana!" My Aunt gasped.

Slapping me on the back, Sue hooted,

"I like this one! Full of fire!"

(To hell with them!)

Ignoring my Aunt and Richard's thunderous expression, I asked,

"Mr Evans, do tell."

Turning a small spoon over in his fingers, he shyly began,

"Well the rigs on the ranch, their dangerous work. An oilrig is a dangerous contraption. Its never 100% safe! It can explode at any time due to pressure, wear and tear, anything really."

Waving his glass for emphasis, Russell slurred,

"All the more reason to let the bottom feeders deal with it. It's why we employ them. Right?"

"Mr Fabray, I have a duty of care! Sam declared, "Its my job to make sure the rig is as safe as possible! My men need to be able to trust my judgement and I need to be able to trust that they have my back, either on the rig or on the ground"

He tapped the spoon on the table,

"When you're caught in a blow out, you don't care how well educated someone is or what colour they are, just as long as they pull you out alive, and by the grace of God, with all your bits still attached!"

"But why put yourself in that position?" Judy asked.

"My father taught me that there is no better way to build that trust than by showing them that you're willing to put yourself in jeopardy beside them! Besides, I enjoy the feel of a hard day's labour and the camaraderie when we finally tap a source." He turned to Sue and Blaine, "I assume the mines are rather similar?"

Russell rose unsteadily to his feet, his face beetroot and shiny with sweat,

"Talking of camaraderie, Men I do believe it is time for us to retire to the smoking room and brandy?"

I caught a flicker of disgust cross Quinn's delicate features. The rest of the men rose to leave. Blaine and Sam bowed,

"Ladies."

As they walked away, Blaine struggled to place an arm round Sam's broad shoulders,

"Mr Evans, did you say you had a ranch?"

"Yes fully working!"

"How would you like to be a pioneer? Be part of the Moving Pictures? Imagine Buffalo Bill fighting off bandits, to save…"

I could no longer hear their conversation as they followed a staggering Russell Fabray across the dining hall.

Sue stood up, swinging her jacket over her shoulder,

"As I have no interest in the buffoonery, that I have no doubt, you brainless gasbags deem as dinner conversation, I shall take my leave. Frankly this dinner has been a waste of my time, the service shoddy, the food I wouldn't even serve to my worst enemies and the company most puerile.!"

Slipping her hand in her trouser pocket, she left with a spring in her step.

Wiping my mouth with my napkin, I rose with a huge smile, addressing the rest of the table,

"I don't know about anyone else, but I found dinner to be highly entertaining?"

Picking up my wrist purse, I left before anyone of them could reply.

X

X

**Ok Ladies and Gents, sorry this chapter took so long to be update. For some reason this chapter has been the most difficult and I don't know why. For some reason I found it really hard to swap back from 1980s Santana style back to the 1912 style. **

**If it reads weird I apologise. I think I am getting back into the way of writing. I know this chapter may seem like filler but I assure you it is needed. **


	12. Chapter 12

I would just like to say a huge thank you to everyone who followed or favourite and reviewed and to anyone else that is reading this. Your mails and messages are appreciated. In addition, I always love reading them. It lets me know I'm on the write track

I do not have a beta at the moment so any grammatical errors and spelling mistakes are my own. I apologise. I am looking for a beta so if any one is interested drop me a line.

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Hope u like it.

**Disclaimer I do not own the Glee characters or Titanic **

X

Chapter 12

X

**Brittany P.O.V**

X

_April 12th - Deck F_

X

A bright light jarred me from my dreams of rolling meadows, prancing horses, toffee and cream. I blinked in the harsh glare waiting for my eyes to adjust. I could make out my cabin mate sluggishly attempting to dress herself.

Peering out of the porthole, I could see the murky, dull grey of the morning. It was too early.

I groaned. My head felt as if a herd of elephants were trampling about inside and then some. Snuggling down into my blanket, I closed my eyes hoping slumber would reclaim me. Beneath me, the bunk shifted. For a brief moment, I wondered who was down there. Ignoring it, I concentrated on the fleeting images of my dream.

"Rachel! Come on! It's time to get up, if we want to grab a bite before we start?"

From below me, I heard a clang and a soft curse.

"Oh my God! Who is this?"

My cabin mate whispered to the other voice.

"Shh, it's ok. It's only Kurt."

I smiled to myself. At least I was not alone with a complete stranger in the room. The voice raised an octave, screaming into my haze,

"Why is he wearing a dress? Why is he in here?" There was a pause, "Why is does he have Miss Santana's jacket?"

My eyes flew open.

Santana? She had mentioned a maid called Rachel. Surely, it couldn't be the same person?

My body screamed in protest as I sat bolt upright in shock. My head swam. I did not know if it was the motion of the ship or the cold fear of what I may have said in the maid's company. I racked my brain, trying to figure out how we could have met her and what she was doing here.

Grabbing the safety railing of the bunk, I attempted to steady myself. My stomach lurched. Throwing myself from the top bunk, I stumbled to the latrine and vomited. I heard someone gasp in surprise,

"Oh my!"

Somewhere a tap ran. Somebody placed a tin cup full of water beside me and pressed a damp cloth into my unresisting hand. A strong hand rubbed my back. I appreciated the kindness.

"Thank you." I mumbled through my swollen lips. I took a small sip of water.

Swirling it around my mouth, I spat it into the latrine and wiped my face with the cloth. Closing my eyes, I slumped back against the wall, stretching out my legs, unable to move any further. I ached from head to toe. I heard one of the bunks shift and the soft footsteps of someone moving about the cabin.

"Jones, is she ok?" Rachel asked.

"She will be. She just had a little too much last night, didn't you Brittany?"

Wincing, I nodded. Even that hurt. Rachel continued,

"Ms Oakville is always telling Miss Santana how the lower classes are prone to alcohol dependency due to lack of education and manners, especially people of the performing variety."

"Do you _ever_ shut up?" Kurt growled, "Some of us are trying to get our beauty sleep. Moreover, for your information, Ms Oakville is full of shit! The reason why we drink is so we can cope with your lot and the evil, cruel shit that they pull."

"What do you mean by that, my lot?" Rachel retorted, shrilly.

Her voice cut me like a thousand little needles. Cringing, I begged,

"Please!"

Kurt shouted,

"The snobby arseholes you run around after like a lap dog!"

"Miss Santana is certainly not a snobby arsehole!" Rachel declared, stamping her foot in emphasis, "And your one to be talking about running around like a lap dog when you have Miss Santana's jacket!"

"Miss Santana's jacket?" He replied.

Sinking my head into my hands, I tried to drown them out. I was not able for this, so early in the morning and ill from the drink.

Rachel snapped back, accusingly,

"I'd recognise that jacket anywhere. I spent enough time hiding it yesterday. How did you get it?"

"It's Brittany's. She did not steal it. Santana gave it back!"

The room fell silent.

Daring myself, I opened my left eye a sliver.

Jones stood in the centre of the cabin, hands on her hips, immaculately dressed in her maids uniform. Kurt looked ridiculous in my dress as he sat, grey faced, on the edge of the bunk. My gaze finally landed on Rachel. I recognised her as the girl with the stage smile that had woken me the previous morning.

They all stared back at me, expectantly.

I did not want to answer Rachel's question. I cursed myself inwardly, wishing I had pretended to be asleep.

Kurt flopped onto the floor, dragging himself past Jones and Rachel, he curled into a ball, resting his head in my lap. He groaned as I stroked his soft hair. Jones cackled,

"The two of you are a sorry pair."

I tried to scowl at her but gave up. Rachel stepped over the strewn luggage to the sink, shooting me curious glances. I shifted uncomfortably beneath her scrutiny.

What had I said? How much did she know?

Watching her wash her face and comb out her long dark hair, I prayed to any God that would listen that I had not been too bold. I could not bare the thought that in my drunken stupidity, I may have caused Santana more grief, on top of what she already had to deal with.

Finishing making herself presentable, she turned as if to leave. She stopped, fixing me with her brown deer like eyes, she ventured,

"How exactly do you know Miss Santana?"

My mouth turned dry, my tongue thick and gritty from the alcohol and the sickness, refused to move. I tried to swallow. I could not!

I shrank further into the wall as her brown eyes bored into mine. I felt as if she was searching my very soul for the secrets I held.

Santana had said that she was fond of the maid but also that she felt she could not trust anyone. I fought back the rising panic.

Kurt cut in,

"I don't care how she knows Miss Santana. What I want to know is how the hell I ended up in this dress?"

Letting out a deep breath, I relaxed as the topic drifted away from Santana's and my friendship. Jones let out a deep, hearty laugh,

"We were enjoying a nice game of cards when the two of you and that knuckle head Puck came in hollering something about a porter. You wouldn't leave us alone until we joined you."

Images of cards, pints, drums and dancing partners flittered, hazily across my mind. I wondered where Puck could be. Rachel's voice cut through my jumbled thoughts,

"I for one do not partake in alcoholic beverages. I believe it damages the constitution of the mind, causing people to make rash decisions that land you in undesirable situations such as the one you two currently find yourselves in!"

"You where just as bad!" Jones scoffed.

Rachel's lips formed a perfect 'O'.

"I was not!"

"Yes you where! You started yodelling about some long lost love that had gone off to war or something like that. But I gotta' say you have a mighty voice on you."

Rachel looked smug, patting her maids cap,

"Well I did train every day Miss Santana attended her music lessons. I actually listiened."

It was not fair. How was she able to stand there, bright eyed and bushy tailed?

"How is she not sick?" I asked, hoarsely.

"She only had two and then she threw up all over the table. That's when we got kicked out"

Rachel buried her head in her hands. Kurt shook against me as he chuckled,

"Light weight!"

"Well at least I wasn't running about like Marie Antoinette!" She retorted.

Kurt rose himself on his right arm, scrabbling to reach the buttons at his back with his left. Giving up in defeat, he slumped back down against me. Gesturing wildly behind him, he implored,

"Please will somebody help me?"

My hands shook as I attempted to work my fingers into the loops that held the buttons. I looked up at Jones, who watched us with eyes full of mirth.

"You two are a mess!"

"Yeah, yeah" Kurt grumbled.

Jones gathered herself,

"Rachel, we must go. If we are late, Ms Oakville and that wrinkly old hag Sylvester will give us a tongue lashing and I, for one, am not in the mood to be getting myself into a pile of trouble"

Rachel continued to eye me curiously. For a moment she looked as she was about to ask me something, instead she gave me a curt nod before leaving the cabin.

I breathed a sigh of relief; I was not able for an inquisition.

Jones made her way to the door, giving Kurt and me one last glance,

"I'll be seeing you two later. And tell that knuckle head he owes me sixpence."

The door slammed shut causing us both to flinch into each other. Kurt broke the silence, the vibrations tickling me as he mumbled into my leg,

"Thank god she's gone!"

"Who?"

"Rachel! I thought I was going to kill her if she did not shut up! She is so annoying!"

Sliding a little way down the wall, closing my eyes, I muttered,

"We have to find Puck."

"In a few minutes."

Unable to move, we both allowed the boat to rock us gently back to sleep.

X

X

**Santana P.O.V**

X

_April 12th - Deck B. Cabin 52_

X

I leapt out of bed as soon as I opened my eyes, brimming with excitement at the prospect of spending more time with the blond dancer. Wrapping myself in my dressing gown, I called softly into the room,

"Rachel?"

Receiving no reply, I glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. I had risen over an hour early than I normally did and then it would usually take an extra half an hour to drag myself from out of my blankets.

Realising I had a rare opportunity for complete solitude I crept to the bathroom. Not wishing to alert my Aunt to my wakefulness, I carefully closed the connecting door.

I began to draw a bath. Sitting on the edge of the tub, I wiggled my fingers beneath the ornate taps to check the temperature. Pouring nameless bath salts and oils into the steamy water, I watched the colours dance and merge. The light refracted off the viscous liquid, causing miniscule rainbows to form briefly.

Languidly swirling my fingers in the water, I realised how much I missed doing things for myself. Since my Aunt had decided I was to be raised as a lady, I had not been allowed to indulge in such mundane tasks.

I always thought that the small things were what kept a person humble and real. I despised being waited on hand and foot.

Satisfied with the temperature of the water, I retrieved fresh some under garments, an under skirt and corset brassiere from my room, silently making my way back to the bathroom.

A wall of heavy steam hit me. I breathed in big gulps, enjoying the smell of lavender in the air.

(A blissful moment's peace.)

Exhaling, I closed the door behind me, placing my clothes on a small chair. I stripped out of my nightclothes, leaving them on the floor as I stepped over to the bathroom mirror admiring my naked reflection.

Smiling, I turned off the tap, gingerly lowering myself into the tub, enjoying the slight sting from the heat of the water and the aroma from the bath salts. Making myself comfortable, I relaxed back into the tub. Idly I began to draw the soap across my skin.

Brittany flashed across my mind. I thought about our shared kiss, how her soft tongue had felt against my own and how my body had sung beneath her brief touch. I had wanted more. I had wanted her hands upon my skin, much like my own were now as I soaped myself.

My dreams from the previous night had been filled with her kisses and soft caresses peppering my neck, long my collarbones and down the valley of my breasts

The dull ache in my lower abdomen returned, causing me to press my thighs together to some how calm the tightening coil I felt there. I never dreamt or imagined Richard doing any of those things. His kisses had never sparked any of the reactions that I was experiencing when imagining Brittany. He never ignited anything within me other than aversion.

(Is something wrong with me?)

Fleeting images and sensations assaulted me as my dreams returned. I imagined Brittany gripping my hips, firmly, as she pressed herself, flush against me, whispering sweet nothings in my ear, grazing my ear lobe with her teeth, nibbling.

My nipples puckered as I pressed my thighs together tighter. I could not control it. A small moan escaped me.

I needed release!

Closing my eyes, I trailed my left hand down along my side, thinking of how her lithe body had felt against mine. Palming my right breast, I imagined how it would feel to have her shell pink lips sucking upon it, gasping as the throb between my legs intensified. My left hand slid down along my slick torso, through the dark soft curls of my mound.

My legs parted, involuntarily.

I had never been able to satisfy myself completely, but this felt different.

Tentatively I slipped my fingers between my thighs, jolting as they trailed over a hard, sensitive nub I could feel there. Imagining that they were Brittany's stronger, slender ones, I slowly massaged myself, enjoying the tingling sensation that ran from the very tips of my fingers to the very ends of my toes.

I felt on fire!

(Brittany)

A brief flash of guilt crossed my mind at what I was doing to myself.

(Brittany.)

Pushing them to one side, I concentrated on my dreams of her nakedness beneath me. Her creamy skin in contrast with my own . The feeling of her firm muscles under my touch. How her smooth round backside would feel in my hands.

My hips canted, begging for friction, causing my fingers to press a little harder against my bundle of nerves.

My breath hitched.

Continuing to touch myself, I imagined kissing her soft, pale breasts, of drawing my tongue over her pert nipples until she cried out. I rolled my own between my fingers.

I wanted to taste her!

I wanted her to taste me!

The image of the blond dancer between my legs, kissing my most intimate place caused me to rub myself faster. My hips bucked in abandon and my breath became ragged as I quickened the pace. I attempted to quieten a moan.

Electricity shot through me. My toes curled and my legs stiffened. Images of Brittany flickered across my mind as I chased the tightness in my lower body, every fibre of my being, pulled taunt. My eyes rolled back in my head, behind my closed eyelids as I pushed myself past my apex, this time unable to suppress the deep moan from within.

The door flew open.

"Miss Santana, are you ok?"

(Shit!)

Losing my grip on the tub, I suddenly found myself under water. Pulling myself up, coughing and spluttering, I cursed,

"Jesus Rachel! Do you not know how to knock?"

Covering her eyes with her hands, she apologised,

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I heard a noise and you were not in your bed so I thought you were ill."

(Did she see?)

Trying to hide my embarrassment, I snapped,

"So you thought the best course of action was to charge in like a mozo escaping a Encierro? I could have been on the commode!"

She refused to meet my gaze, even beneath her sallow skin I could make out the flush at her cheeks. As my maid, she had seen me naked many times before, whether it be to simply change or bathe, there was no need for her to blush.

Scrubbing myself furiously to hide my humiliation, I watched her out of the corner of my eye as she attempted to clean up the excess water that had sloshed over the sides in my shock.

She broke the silence,

"Which dress today Miss?"

"The blue!" I muttered.

She hurriedly left the room. Groaning, I slid beneath the water.

(She saw!)

X

X

Hastily, I towelled myself dry and oiled my skin. Taking a deep breath, I cautiously entered the bedroom. Rachel busied herself with starting the fire. Taking a seat at the vanity table, I began to brush my damp and unruly hair.

"How was your night off?" I queried, hesitantly.

She straightened, taking a moment, before turning round.

"It was interesting." She curtly replied.

Stepping behind me, she took the brush from my hand and began to brush my hair, delicately.

I always enjoyed it when Rachel made up my hair. She was always so gentle and put it up into the nicest styles. My Aunt tended to pull it and I usually lost patience with it, cramming it into a side sweep. As annoying as it was, I refused to cut it short, feeling it was the only thing my mother and I shared..

Braiding it from my left temple, her nimble fingers working through the strands of wet hair, she continued,

"I met some rather interesting people."

To distract myself, I idly began flicking through the pages of the book before me.

"Really? Do tell. I am curious as to what the rest of the ship does for entertainment."

She placed the brush on the vanity,

"Why don't you tell me about the jacket, like you promised?"

Contemplating my answer, I continued to flick through the leaves, my eyes unseeing. I replied,

"It belonged to a friend."

Her fingers stopped, I heard her take a deep breath,

"By any chance would that friend be called Brittany?"

She pressed forward, braiding my hair, her fingers accelerating as she rambled,

"Only she's sharing a cabin with Ms Sylvester's maid, Jones, that's where I was last night. I met herself and her two companions, Puck and Kurt and they seem to know you. How did you meet them?"

I flickered my eyes between the brush, book, and to various other items upon the vanity in an attempt, for the second time in less than half an hours, to avoid her intense stare. I could feel her waiting for my answer.

My head swam. What exactly could I tell her? I did not wish to place her in a future difficult situation. If asked enough about my recent behaviour, would she crack under pressure? The less she knew the safer it would be for all of us.

I did not know exactly what was happening between Brittany and me. Nor could I name it. I knew how the dancer made me feel but I also knew it would not be prudent to discuss it with anyone.

Heat spread through me, setting my cheeks a flame as I remembered what had transpired in the bathroom and the cause. Rachel's voice brought me back,

"Its funny Miss Santana,.."

I raised my head,

"Brittany reacted in the same way when I asked her too!"

She finished braiding my hair, deftly securing it in place with hairpins,

"Miss Santana, if you do not wish to tell me of your dalliances with certain gentlemen, I understand."

"Dalliances with gentlemen?" I asked,

She started to tidy up the small table,

"Puck!"

I barked with laughter,

"Puck! God no!"

Pausing, she asked innocently,

"Are there others?"

I could feel my blush returning. Raising her eyebrows, she gasped,

"Miss Santana!"

Before I could correct her, the door clicked open. My Aunt entered the room in her dressing gown, her eyes raking over the scene before her,

"Rachel, make ready the emerald outfit!" She commanded.

"I was just…" The maid began.

Crossing her arms over her chest, my Aunts eyes never left me.

"I shall take care of Santana!"

Coldness ran through me. I hated it when my Aunt took it upon herself to dress me. It always meant a reprimand for my behaviour; it always turned into an argument.

Rachel hovered, hesitantly.

"Rachel! Leave us and close the door behind you!" She barked.

"Yes Ma'am." Rachel bobbed slightly, throwing me an apologetic look before leaving the cabin.

My Aunt glared at me, her eyes boring into mine. Motioning to the fireplace, her voice shook with barely contained anger.

(Here we go)

Rolling my eyes, I reluctantly made my way to the fireplace. Turning my back, gripping the mantle piece, I braced myself awaiting the onslaught.

Feeling her fingers work in between the laces of my brassiere, I caught her cruel eyes in the reflection of the mirror. Her nostrils flared,

"Santana, what on earth did you think you were doing inviting that stage charlatan and.." Her thin lips curled back, baring her teeth, "questionable gentlemen to dinner?"

Her shrill voice sliced through me. I calmly replied,

"I was being polite."

She yanked hard on the laces. The bones of the corset bit into the soft flesh of my breasts. Digging my fingers into the wood of the mantelpiece at the sudden pain, I gasped a sharp intake of breath.

"Since when do you have manners?" She spat.

I could feel her, roughly, restringing another set of laces.

"Were you trying to humiliate me?"

Forcing myself to ignore the pain, I replied, innocently,

"I did not know of your prior acquaintance!"

I kept my features stoic as she searched my face for a hint of a lie.

(Judy Fabray would be proud!)

Finding none, she yanked the laces hard. Tears pricked my eyes as I struggled to breathe. She growled,

"You are not to associate with them again! Do you understand? America is not like Europe where you can run about and do as you please. Your reputation is _everything, _without it your nothing! In fact in your case, you're less than nothing!"

"How could I forget?" I snarled, "You never let me!"

Spinning me round, she roughly shoved me against the fireplace. A shooting pain spread beneath my shoulder blades where the mantle piece had dug into my back. I could feel the heat from the fire, on my calves, through my under skirt. I feared I would set on fire.

Her face twisted with bitterness,

"Your ungrateful behaviour is unacceptable. In America they do not take kindly to people of your .. "

"You can say it." I spat with venom, "Gypsy!"

A brief look of disgust flickered across her face a she recoiled, I caught it before she composed herself.

I had always thought she despised my mother, father and my mixed heritage, now I knew it was so much more.

"The only thing keeping you safe is your status and your inheritance. You're lucky the Hartley's and the Fabray's are willing to over look your little problem because if it!"

(Problem?)

Grinning at her, I scoffed,

"So that is what all this is? A merger? And I'm a prize asset."

"Every marriage is a contract, nothing more!" She stated, coldly.

How could she think that? Marriage was supposed to be about love and happiness. I had seen it.

"My parents loved each other!" I exclaimed.

I watched as my Aunt tittered.

"Don't be silly child. It was business. The only reason why Daddy allowed your parents to foolishly marry was because of your father's ridiculous minor title!"

(How dare she?)

Clenching my fists, I narrowed my eyes, ignoring the pain of my nails biting into my palms, I screamed,

"That ridiculous title is the only thing allowing you to be here on this ship, giving you the chance to worm your way back into the good graces of the Fabray's , instead of laying on your back earning yourself a wage!"

Rounding on her, I hissed,

"Or maybe you already did that and Abuelo was too broke to bail you out?"

Her hand snaked out, quick as a whip, striking me. My head and my body snapped back with the force before I felt the hot, white, sting upon my cheek. I turned, glaring defiantly as she raised her hand to her mouth, a look of shock upon her face at what she had done. She let out a strangled sob,

"Oh, Santana, I am so sorry!"

Stepping forward, she cupped my face. Her cold hand felt like sand paper against my skin. I tried to recoil. Tears glistened in her eyes.

I turned my back to her. Touching my shoulders, lightly, she whispered,

"You don't understand. This is the best match we can hope for."

The patterns ingrained in the deep, brown wood began to blur as I fought back the tears that threatened to engulf me. Swallowing them back, I refused to allow them to fall. Silently she pulled the laces at my back.

I braced myself. I had to get out, I had to find a way.

X

**Sorry it took so long to update. Been busy these last two weeks. I re write this chapter a few times. I did not know whether to put 'the scene' into it. But then again I had a reason for doing it .. I would really lie to hear your thoughts on it n whether I ought to keep it. **


	13. Chapter 13

I'd just like to say a huge thank you to everyone who followed or favourite and reviewed and to anyone else that is reading this. Your mails and messages where appreciated.

I do not have a beta at the moment so any grammatical errors and spelling mistakes are my own. I apologise. I am looking for a beta so if any one is interested drop me a line.

You can also get in contact at my handle. Tumblr . com

Hope u like it.

X

X

Chapter 13

**Brittany P.O.V**

**X**

_April 12th, RMS Titanic, Top Deck, Stern_

X

After breakfast, we had spent the morning running about, lost in the bowels of the immense ship as we struggled to find the bathing room and the laundry. I was glad to be out in the open after all the tight corridors and the confusing turns.

Enjoying the warm afternoon sun on my clean skin and the way the light breeze whipped through my still damp hair, my legs stretched out, I relaxed back against the railings.. I had positioned myself so I could see the stairs where Santana had arranged to meet me and still see all that was going on around me.

Puck sat a few feet away, furiously scribbling. Every now and then, he would look up squinting at me and then bow his head, returning to his paper. Kurt, having given a lesson earlier, had settled down beside him, nose buried in a book.

Further, over, I recognised some of the band members from the previous evening. They lounged on the deck, sharing smokes and showing each other how to play their instruments

Spotting me, Padraig waved the bow of his fiddle in greeting. A few of the other men copied him. Lazily, I returned the gesture. Nearby, Orla laughed as John encouraged Bethany to crawl towards him, darting away as she was about to get close.

"Still no sign of her?" Puck called.

Chewing on my fingernail, I shook my head. Tearing himself from his book, Kurt checked his pocket watch.

"It's been nearly an hour Miss Brittany. Maybe she's not coming?"

"She said she didn't know what time," I called back, "Just a little longer."

Puck held up his hand,

"Stay there Blondie, I'm not finished!

Snapping the watch closed, Kurt sighed,

"No good will come of this."

Winking at me, Puck came to my defence,

"Maybe it will?"

Shaking his head, Kurt returned to his book. Resting my head back, against the railings, I closed my eyes, the breeze fluttered through my hair. The smell of salt and the ocean surrounded me. I could hear snatches of conversations carried up on the wind.

Deep down I knew Kurt did not expect her to show.

After our conversation the previous night, it was clear he did not exactly trust her, even though she had given him no reason not to, but in a way, I also knew I could not really blame him.

The cold hard truth was, once the boat docked I would probably never see of hear from her again. In a few short days, she would be gone, heading off to become a miserable wife. In addition, I would have nothing but a memory

I could not stand the thought of leaving her to face that darkness alone. I wanted to be able to whisk her away from it all..

She was strong, stronger than she believed. Even beneath the pressure of her situation, she still stood tall and proud.

Nevertheless, how long could she keep being like that before she gave up completely? Becoming weaker and weaker until she was nothing more than a shell, or worse, as she had confided, ended it all.

However, something in me kept bringing me back to the fact Santana was unpredictable.

She went against everything I had come to learn about the upper classes. She had sat un chaperoned with a complete stranger in the dark. She had traipsed the bowels of the ships, by herself, just to return my jacket, then choosing my company over whatever exciting things rich people did.

I had not expected her to kiss me but she had.

Even in the small amount of time we had spent together, I could not help but feel that something special was happening between us.

I had kissed people before but I had never felt like I did when I kissed Santana. I licked my lips at the memory. Her kisses made me giddy, drunk and breathless. They made me hum and tingle all over.

Maybe I could figure a way to get her see that there was so much more out there. That the world was a huge place full of opportunities and possibilities. That all she had to do was believe and then make it happen.

X

X

**Santana P.O.V.**

**X**

_April 12th, Top Deck, Stern._

X

Rushing along the deck, I cured beneath my breath at my lateness and hoped that the dancer had not grown weary with waiting for me.

My morning had been unusually busy.

First we had been joined by the Fabray's for breakfast on the promenade. Richard had whined, I had not spent anytime alone in his company as a fiancé should and had dragged me round the shops and chatted to other gentlemen, showing me off like a prize heifer, whilst I slipped into boredom at the inane female chatter that had been thrown in my direction.

My Aunt, Judy and Quinn whisked me away for a light lunch in the Café Parisian, to discuss the details of my up and coming nuptials

They mistook my disinterested manner as nerves at becoming a new wife, as they fussed and fawned over me, wishing to know what designer I wanted for my dress, would I be using my Father's vintage for the reception and other small facts, when all I wanted was to be spending my time with the peculiar blond dancer.

Catching my mounting frustration and unwillingness to participate as the older women steam rolled over any suggestion I made any way, Quinn offered me my out by asking if I would accompany her to the library as she missed her 'dearest friend'.

On the way there, we had passed pleasantries, about Sam and Richard. She admitted that like me, she was in awe of Ms Sylvester; it seemed to be only thing we agreed upon.

Once in the library she had commented, with genuine concern, being I was so used to being in the fresh air and open fields, no wonder I had taken ill over the last few days, being cooped up inside was probably a shock to my system. Seizing the opportunity to make my escape, I claimed a sudden headache due to the stuffy library air.

Rather than offering to accompany me, she had remained seated, book in hand, smiling sweetly, assuring me that she was more than capable to make her own way back

It was as if our mutual curiosity, as to what Ms Sylvester knew about our elders, had settled us into a somewhat small, if, uneasy truce. I was thankful for the respite of not having to be constantly on guard every time she spoke, that it granted me. It was one less thing for me to worry about.

Maybe finally I could breathe.

X

X

Stopping at the gate that would lead me down to the stern of the ship, I shielded my eyes from the mid afternoon glare.

The deck stretched before me, teeming with activity. Off in the distance I could see a small, on going football match. Children screamed with laughter as they chased each other. Other passengers lounged, chatting to each other. It surprised me how relaxed everyone seemed to be in comparison to the stiff, mechanical interactions of the Upper class passengers.

Scanning the deck, my eyes alighted upon her. My heart skipped a beat..

She was still waiting for me!

Bubbling with excitement, I swiftly stepped down the cast iron stairs, taking them two at a time. In my giddiness, I gripped the banisters, swinging myself off the last few steps, much as I had done as a child.

Her arms crossed tightly across her chest and her longs legs stretched out, she rested against the railings, her head lolled to one side. The slight breeze whipped her golden hair from her face. She looked as if she was sleeping.

Warmth spread through me at how peaceful and angelic she looked.

Not far away sat Puck, upon seeing me he grinned broadly. He looked like he was about to speak. I shushed him, raising my finger to my lips. I did not wish to wake her from her slumber.

She twitched, a small smile ghosting her pink lips.

(Are your dreams the same as mine?)

A loud cheer went up from the crowd watching the football match.

She startled awake, looking around in confusion. Rubbing her eyes with her hands, she pouted slightly. I stifled a laugh at her cuteness. Taking a step forward, I called softly,

"Britt-Britt!"

For a few moments, she blinked before scrambling to her feet. Closing the space between us in one bound, she wrapped her arms round my waist.

Lifting me, she spun us round and round until we both broke into giggles. Never letting me out of her embrace, she placed me gently on the deck. Nuzzling closer into her embrace, I could smell soap, sea salt and the hint of vanilla I had come to know as the smell of Brittany. Squeezing me tightly, she murmured into my ear,

"You came?"

Pulling back to study her face, I teased,

"Did you think I would not? "

Her eyes darted around the deck in a brief flash of guilt. My heart clenched. I had some how caused her to doubt me. Tentatively I reached out, stroking a strand of her corn silk hair out of her face. My voice filled with sincerity, I uttered,

"You have become the best part of my day."

A blush spread across her cheeks, her freckles looked like constellations. Dipping her head slightly, she asked in disbelief,

"Really?"

Lifting her head with my fingers, her topaz eyes meet mine causing a thousand butterflies beneath my breast to take flight. They beat and rattled within me, begging for release as I blurted,

"Yes! You mean more to me than you know!"

She looked a little taken aback by my admission, as was I.

I realised I meant every word of it.

Just one look and this girl turned me into a quivering mess of truthfulness.

Her face split into a toothy smile. Elation filled me that I had been the cause of it

(That is how you should always look).

Her pink tongue flickered out, wetting her bottom lip. Unable to take my eyes away from the way it glistened, I felt myself lean forward. Her eyes bored into mine. Stopping myself, I murmured,

"Not here, Not with such a huge crowd."

She frowned as I reluctantly untangled myself from her arms. Reaching down, she interlocked our pinkies and began pulling me towards the two boys. I followed, relishing how they felt, locked together, as they swung between us.

Pushing the cap back off his head, Puck looked up,

"Ah Miss La De Da, nice of you to grace us with your presence."

Nudging him playfully with my foot, I quipped,

"Waiting for me Noah? What else would your boorish self have to do?"

Proudly waving a few pieces of paper, he smirked,

"Nope! I've been bird watching!"

Curiosity got the better of me. Reaching out I snatched the papers from his grasp. Letting go of Brittany's hand I began to leaf through the sketches,.

One depicted a mother and her babe, the other was of Brittany, leant back against the railing. Her expression, caught beautifully. Every crease of her clothing and body, caught perfectly upon the page. The light and detail were exquisite.

Taken aback I gasped,

"Mr Puckerman these are truly amazing!"

For once, the cocky demeanour was gone, replaced by a bashfulness that made him look like a schoolchild.

Brittany shifted, attempting to peer over my shoulder. Twisting, I hid the paper from her view.

"San!" She whined, "Let me see!"

Reaching out for it, Puck exclaimed,

"No! It's not finished!"

Her eyes became huge and her bottom lips began to tremble,

"But I want to see!"

An idea struck me. Entwining our fingers, I ventured,

"Its bad luck for commissioned artists to show their work before it's finished. Isn't that right Mr Hummel?"

Kurt looked up from his book and eyed me curiously. Taking the drawings from Puck, he began to study them.

"You're commissioning Puck? " He asked, dubiously.

Nodding my head, I begged him with my eyes,

"Si! Do you not remember, yesterday?"

Catching Brittany's expression, it dawned on him.

"Oh yes of course, how silly of me to forget!"

Puck squinted up at me..

"I mainly draw nudes."

Rolling my eyes, I scoffed,

"Of course you would."

Brittany's brow crinkled in confusion,

"Princess, why would you want a picture of a woman in the nudey?"

Puck began to roll a cigarette, stating matter a factly,

"Nude women. That's how you know its art!"

She seemed to mull it over before replying, innocently,

"But I get naked all the time, does that make me art?"

"It depends if he sketches you? Are you offering?" Kurt quipped in bemusement, enjoying my discomfort, adding, "In the name of Art, of course."

An image of Brittany, naked with Puck, flashed across my mind. Stamping my foot in irritation at Puck's suggestion, I snipped,

"I do not want a nude piece!"

She squeezed my pinkie,

"Why not San? It could be fun?"

Puck lit is cigarette, eying me mischievously

"Yeah Miss La De Da, why spoil the fun?"

I was sure my ears were tinged pink at their teasing. Exasperated, I held up my hand,

"No! No nudes! No Brittany getting naked. I just want you to finish that piece and I shall pay you on completion like we agreed."

"Spoil sport." Puck grumbled.

Giving a little cough, Kurt began,

"About the payment? I would say, materials, labour.."

"Lack of boobs!" Puck chimed in.

Brittany giggled beside me. Kurt continued, his voice smooth,

"Yes, lack of nakedness. I would say a handsome sum of a few dollars should cover it."

Puck nodded in agreement.

(The Bastards)

Waving my finger in Kurt's direction, I narrowed my eyes,

"You Sir are a scoundrel!"

Kurt smirked,

"Now Miss Lopez, we need some incentive for Puck to finish the masterpiece you so eagerly desire!"

Puck exhaled the smoke,

"Yup, especially with the lack of boobs!"

Brittany's giggles sounded like music to my ears. She poked me gently in the ribs,

"Aww look at San getting all embarrassed!"

My cheeks burned.

(If only you knew my imaginings.)

The two boys watched me owlishly. They had me in an awkward position and they knew it.

"Ok! A few dollars! Just stop with the boobs!"

They broke into gales of laughter.

"Can I see?" She asked.

"No!" We exclaimed in unison.

Once more, she began to pout. How could one person be so adorable and at the same time set my heart a flutter? Raising myself on the balls of my feet I leant over and pressed my lips to her warm soft cheek,

"When it's finished Britt-Britt. I promise."

"Ok." She nodded.

Satisfied, she lowered herself gracefully to sit, crossed legged, on the deck, tugging at my hand to join her. Kurt gasped in shock,

"Miss Brittany, you can not expect her to sit on the floor!"

Sweeping my skirts beneath me, I sat down, shuffling along the timber until our knees touched. She immediately pulled my left hand into her lap and began to twist the ring on my finger

"Mr Hummel, I assure you I shall not break! In fact Mr Puckerman, would you be so kind as to roll me one of your cigarettes as I seem to of left mine in my cabin?"

Puck and Kurt exchanged a look.

"What?" I snapped.

"You want to smoke one of mine?"

Their lack of belief was beginning to annoy me.

"Si!" I huffed, "Why else do you think I am asking?"

"Puck guffawed, as he removed a small tin and a roll of papers.

"Look at you roughing it. Sitting on the deck and smoking like a sailor with the rest of us peasants."

Holding out my hand, I struggled to keep my voice calm at his insinuation,

"Mr Puckerman, there are many things I have seen and done that would astound you, so if you would be so kind?"

He tore of two slim pieces of paper and fished out a small bundle of tobacco. Placing it in the paper, he went to hand it to me. I reached out. He pulled back playfully, wiggling his eyebrows,

"I bet you have!"

Catching the teasing tone in his voice, I lunged forward, attempting to snatch the bundle from his grasp. He put out an arm to stop me, waving the tobacco over his head, out of my reach. Kurt chortled,

"It seems the manners of the first class have deteriorated some what since I was last there!"

Puck laughed in agreement. I scowled darkly at them both. Brittany stopped tracing patterns in my palm.

"Stop it, you're being mean."

At her words, Kurt and Puck automatically looked like scolded schoolchildren.

I was not the only one that she had bewitched with her ways.

Puck handed me the bundle, muttering an apology under his breath.. Taking it from him, I childishly stuck out my tongue. He leaned forward, taking a swipe at my leg for landing him in trouble.

She continued tracing patterns in my palm. Even with her head bowed in concentration, I could see the small smirk at the corner of her lips.

Placing the small paper and precious plant within the dip of my skirts, I attempted to place it all together.

"Can you even roll?" Puck asked.

I shook my head. Instead of teasing me, Puck shuffled closer.

"All right, Miss La De Da, I'm gonna teach you a life skill. You never know when you might need it."

"You're going to need both hands Miss Lopez." Kurt chided.

Reluctantly I let go of her warm ones. Not wanting to miss a thing, I concentrated on Puck's fingers as he folded the narrow piece of paper into what looked like a trough, placing the dark brown leaves along it. I felt Brittany's fingers gently ghost my temple and down along my braid as she spoke,

"Your hairs really pretty Princess."

Looking up, I smiled,

"Rachel did it."

Her fingers continued to trail across the back of my neck. In a bid to control the trembles that went through me, I gripped the paper tightly causing it to tear.

Puck tutted and tore off another piece of rolling paper.

Taking it, I breathed in. Her hand had continued down my spine, resting against my right hip. Gripping me, she pulled me towards her until I was practically sat on top of her. I relaxed against her, enjoying the way I moulded into her. She rested her hand at the small of my back.

I could feel eyes upon me. Looking up, I found her watching me intently whilst Kurt's expression was unfathomable. Puck slapped my arm playfully,

"Miss La De Da! Concentrate. If this was Kurt you would have got a clip round the ear by now!"

Brittany giggled again. The sound sent shivers down my spine. Trying to ignore the way her fingers caressed me through the material of my dress, I nimbly remade the trough and placed the tobacco along it.

Puck leaned forward, showing me how he held the cigarette, pinched between his thumb, index and middle fingers, to support it. The tips of his fingers met in the middle.

"Hold it like this."

I copied him. He looked over to make sure I had it right. I became aware of the silence that had settled amongst us as we all became engrossed in my lesson

"Good," Puck assured me, "Now just roll it between your fingers like this."

He began to move his fingers against each other, shifting them slowly from the middle to the edges, then back to the middle. I watched, as the tobacco in his experienced hands became a cylinder.

Vanilla engulfed me as the dancer shifted position, resting her chin on my shoulder so she could see what I was doing. Feeling her breath on my cheek, heat went through me as I remembered what I had done to myself this morning, imagining her so close.

"Your fingers are really flexible." She breathed.

Kurt snickered. Throwing him a glare, I returned to my task, pinching the paper and rolling it between my fingers. I could see out of the corner of my eye, a mischievous look on her face.

She licked her lips as she dipped her hand lower. Finding the gap between the bottom of my corset and skirt, where the material was thinner, she pressed her fingers firmly against the very place my spine ended and my backside dipped.

I gasped. It felt delicious.

"So good," She purred, "I bet there are loads of fancy things you can do with them."

Blinking, I tensed at her words, ripping the paper in my hands, once more.

She and Kurt snorted in laughter.

"Shall I just roll you one?" Puck asked, kindly.

"No!" I replied a little more forcefully than I intended. Taking a deep breath, I added, "I can do this. It's just a little hard."

They tittered. Nudging her with my shoulder, I whined,

"Britt! Stop!"

She feigned innocence, her eyes, huge deep pools of the ocean,

"What?"

Handing me another paper, Puck grumbled,

"This is going to cost me a fortune."

Waving him away, I assured him,

"I will give you a whole pack of French ones! I just want to learn."

His face became serious,

"You better not be joking. It's not right messing about with a man and his smokes."

I arched my eyebrow at him, coquettishly,

"Come on Noah. You know I'm good for it!"

Kurt broke into gales of laughter, clutching his stomach as he tried to catch his breath,

"I never thought I would see the day when someone from the upper classes would say that to the likes of us!"

X

X

X

Every time I made one, it would turn out like a monstrous branch or completely crumpled. Brittany, Kurt or Puck would tear it from my grasp, holding out a new paper and twist of tobacco, forcing me to repeat the process all over again.

They made a game of it, laughing at my mounting frustration as Brittany continued to tease me by distracting me with fleeting touches, finding something fascinating on my dress, my hair or my face.

Catching on to their good-natured teasing, I began deliberately making mistakes, the small cigarettes becoming as decrepit as possible, just so I could savour her touch. I wanted nothing more than to drag her away from prying eyes and kiss her silly.

Eventually on the eighth attempt, I managed to roll a cigarette they deemed worthy of smoking. Lighting the 'rollie', as Puck named them; I allowed the oaky tobacco to fill my lungs. I gave a light cough.

Its smoke was thicker and heavier than I was used to, the aroma and flavours seemed pungent yet sweet. It reminded me of the workers on the vineyards. A pang of homesickness seized me. Taking another pull on the cigarette, and closing my eyes, as Brittany lightly traced patterns on my exposed wrist, I relaxed, not knowing which one was the cause.

Kurt gave a round of applause as he declared,

"Finally!"

"Shut up Marie Antoinette!" I retorted,

Kurt's voice raised an octave,

"Oh my God! That traitor told you!"

I chuckled, opening my eyes slightly

"Of course she did. She's my best friend."

He looked back at me in disbelief, his eyebrows raised as he scoffed,

"You're best friends with your maid?"

Nodding, I growled,

"What of it Nancy boy?"

"Nothing," He mumbled as he continued to eye me suspiciously.

Looking round the deck, I could not help put notice the difference, how it seemed all so relaxed compared to the stiff, bridled conversations of my own peers. The football match well over, people milled about in small groups, either enjoying the late afternoon air or strolling about. The small band I had heard earlier began to practice again.

The way Brittany, Puck and Kurt behaved towards each other was how a family ought to behave. Moreover, I felt at home amongst them even though I had only known them a few days. The feeling of glass beneath my skin replaced with contentment and sense of belonging, when I was in their company.

I could be myself.

I wondered how much of it was down to Brittany. The two boys had known her the same amount of time as I and yet they behaved like protective brothers caring for a precious, loveable sister.

They had opened their arms in acceptance, paying no mind to the colour of my skin and so called station in society. Puck and Brittany had a sense of 'rules be damned' about them. Kurt however seemed more cautious. I would catch little quizzical glances from him, as if I was something he was trying to figure out.

They teased each other and chatted idly about their plans once they got to America. Kurt was considering offering his services as a teacher after he visited home. Puck, with no real family or ties to anywhere, seemed content to go wherever the smaller boy decided, confident he would find work.

Brittany, on the other hand, planned to stay in New York, working the music halls and entertainment parlours there until she made enough money and cultivated contacts in the industry so she could make her way to California and try her hand at the Moving Pictures. I kept my acquaintance with Sue Sylvester to myself, not wishing to get her hopes up if I could not procure a meeting between the two.

I marvelled at her bravery. Travelling the vast space that was America was a daunting task, fraught with perils and dangers, especially for a woman alone. But what if she did not have to face it on her own?

If they could step off the ship, into America, the land of opportunities, why couldn't I ?

I could offer my services as a teacher, like Kurt.

For a woman, I was educated in a peculiar nature. My mother had demanded that I take lessons in Reading, Writing, Greek Philosophy, Math, the Arts and Latin. She had wanted me to have an understanding of how the world worked, teaching me Chaucer, Shakespeare and Dickens herself.

After my mother passed, my Aunt demanded my lessons change to more feminine subjects, such as Embroidery and Poetry. For two years, my father refused, not willing to let go of the path his wife had set out for his only child.

Their arguments could be heard, reverberating through the hacienda.

On those nights, I would sneak out with Rachel, grabbing one of the bigger ponies and we would ride, bareback and tandem, to the lake, under the warm moon.

Eventually, to appease her, he conceded by replacing Greek Philosophy with Etiquette, that she decided to teach me herself and I gained a language tutor to help my English pronunciation.

As his business expanded, my time with my father became less frequent. He could be gone weeks to months at a time, depending where he was visiting. When he did bring me along, he encouraged me to speak the language of the natives, if I was learning, for practice, showing me the architecture and art of the place we where visiting as if to make up for leaving me with her. He would always make sure to bring me a gift of a book to add to my vast collection.

In my later teenage years, he would have me sit in the back of his meetings, much to my Aunts displeasure and the distraction of the businessmen he dealt with.

I would pretend to read the book in my hands but more often than not, I would listen to every part of their conversation, taking in facial expressions and tone of voice.

He always told me that he brought me for luck

I knew he was teaching me the delicate art of negotiation, how one thing said from the lips did not necessarily mean it was the truth. When to hang back and when to go for the kill

It was another cause for argument amongst my elders. Him saying I needed to learn and it did no harm for me to understand how the business worked and she screeching it was not my place, but that of my husband and that a vineyard was no place for a Lady.

It was always at that comment that my father would go silent, his shoulders drooping and a look of defeat upon his features, accepting whatever demand she made, whilst triumph would spread across hers.

I grew to despise it.

My father and mother had set out to raise a woman who could stand on her own. They had fully intended for me to take over the business in some sense. Maybe not entirely on my own but at least until I was ready to choose a husband

They never intended for me to be a doltish, under the foot wife. Rotting away, piece by piece.

Why was I allowing it?

Maybe there was a way.

Maybe I could kill two birds with one stone

Warm arms enveloped me, soft lips pressed against my temple, bringing me from my thoughts.

"Where did you go Princess?"

"No where my love. I'm right here."

Before either of us could register what had slipped from my lips, a small boy with a shock of unruly, curly, red hair, tiny grey waistcoat and brown to the knee trousers, and grey knee socks, one of which had slipped, barrelled into the dancer. He let out a squeal as she wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him down onto the warm timber where she proceeded to tickle him.

Kicking his heavy boots against the deck, he attempted to squirm away. She held him steadfast.

"Oh no you don't!"

Puck and Kurt watched in amusement at their antics. The small boy giggled, breathlessly, in an Irish brog,

"Miss Brittany! Miss Brittany!"

Watching the way she was with him, I realised everything about her precious self really was sugar and sweetness.

Exhausted from their tickle fight, the small boy rolled over to stand on his knees, tottering over beside Brittany.

"Whose she?" He asked, curiously.

She squeezed him into her, in a one-arm embrace,

"That, John, is Miss Santana!"

I held out my hand,

"Hello John, how do you do?"

He stared at me with huge green eyes before taking my hand and mumbling shyly,

"Hi."

He let go of my hand. Leaning into Brittany's ear, he whispered loudly,

"She's really pretty."

Brittany nodded in agreement,

"She's the prettiest girl in the world."

He shook his head, causing his curls to bounce,

"Naa! You are! You're my favourite."

Puck and Kurt guffawed at his boldness.

I gasped. I could not get over how friendly they all seemed to be. In the upper classes, a child would have been scolded for such a forward statement towards a woman. Things were obviously different here. The dancer did not seem to mind; instead, she pinched his chubby cheeks

"You're a little charmer is what you are!"

He blushed,

"My Ma was wondering if you would teach my Da how to dance? She says she is tired of getting kicked in the shins all the time."

His little hands reached out, stroking Brittany's golden hair,

"And Da wants Puck to take over the fiddle whilst he's a learning, Will you both come, please?"

"Maybe later John."

He crossed his arms and stuck out his bottom lip in a sulk. My heart broke a little,

"It's ok Britt. Go on."

"Yeah Miss Brittany, how can you deny that little face?" Kurt added, before returning to his book.

I gestured to John, who was rocking himself from knee to knee,

"Yeah, Look at it Britt."

"Ok, John, Tell your Mum We'll be over in a few minutes."

He pressed a sloppy kiss to her cheek. I scowled as he scampered away. Catching my expression, Kurt queried,

"What is that look for?"

Crossing my arms across my chest, much like the young boy, I replied, shortly,

"Nothing!"

Brittany's face broke into a huge grin, causing her freckles to dance, as she gently took my wrist,

"Aww San! Are you jealous?"

Allowing her to take it, I leant in closer and peevishly, whispered,

"It's not fair that he can steal kisses where I cannot!"

Nonchalantly I stroked my hair, avoiding Brittany's gaze and ignoring the two boys hiding their smirks.

She grazed my knuckles with her lips.

"Your lady kisses are the best."

Melting at her words, I shooed her away to hide my embarrassment,

"Go on. Your admirer is waiting."

"Are you sure? I would not want you turning into a green jelly monster. I kind of like you small." She teased."

I nodded and squeezed her hand for reassurance,

"Si! Maybe now I can finally get to see you dance properly?"

Letting go of my hand. She stood up. Slipping out of her jacket, she handed it to me,

"For safe keeping."

I wrapped it up, placing it in my lap. My eyes glued to her as she shee shayed across the deck. Catching me watching her, she threw a wink over her shoulder, deliberately adding more sway to her hips. I swallowed.

"You've got it bad Lopez." Puck grinned, before he followed her.

"I have not!" I declared, indignantly.

"Yeah, yeah! And I'm not Jewish." He called back.

Kurt cleared his throat, offering me one of the decrepit cigarettes I had rolled earlier,

"What are you reading?" I asked.

He began patting his pockets, cigarette dangling from his feminine lips,

"The Picture of Dorian Grey."

"Fitting. " I simply replied.

Finding the box of Lucifer's he struck one, cupping his hand against the small breeze. I inhaled..

"I don't usually smoke but I find it helps me think when I wish to discuss certain things."

He observed me, coolly, through hooded eyes, as I cautiously leaned back from the flame, exhaling the sweet smoke. He brought the light to the tip of his own cigarette, lighting it. Shaking his hand, he extinguished the flame before flicking the stalk across the deck.

As he became more relaxed, I became more uncomfortable under his silent scrutiny. Taking another pull on the cigarette, he began, slowly,

"What exactly are you doing Miss Lopez?"

I sucked on the small cylinder,

"What do you mean Mr Hummel?"

"The way you are being with her. The touches, the not so small admissions, you keep finding yourself making. And the kisses"

My head snapped up. His lips pursed together as he glared at me.

"Yes, she told me about the kisses."

I began to stammer,

"Kurt I do not inten.."

Standing up, he cut me off,

"See to it that you don't."

He took a few small steps in the same direction Puck and Britt had gone, before he stopped, turning to me,

"Are you coming?"

I looked at him, perplexed at his behaviour and the one sided conversation that had just taken place. He rolled his eyes,

"Miss Lopez, Brittany believes that your intentions are good. I am giving you the opportunity to prove her right." He paused, his features softening, "Come along or we shall miss the show and you know that she shall be sorely disappointed."

X

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A small crowd had gathered to watch as she attempted to show the huge, lumbering man , I assumed was John's father, and a few other brave passengers a simple square step. The partners were mixed, men with women, girls with girls, there was even two teenage boys that looked like brothers who proceeded to argue as to who was the 'woman', causing a small titter to roll through the audience.

With graceful confidence she walked amongst them, gently coaxing along the more insecure and dubious dancers.

Stopping by a small girl, she showed the group once more the steps, raising her voice above the crowd,

"Swing your left foot back and turn, bringing your partner with you Trust your feet. Let them guide you."

Handing back the girl to her partner, she studied their movements as they repeated the steps. She clapped in encouragement,

"There you go! You have it right there!"

She gestured to the band. Puck began to pluck on the violin and somewhere a drummer picked up a steady beat.

"Now, lets start off slowly and see if we can put it together, shall we?"

Returning to the big man, who towered over her, she clasped his hand, placing her other on his shoulder

My stomach clenched and coiled at his proximity to her. I reminded myself to stay calm, that it was an innocent dance lesson as a favour to John's mother. Still, as he took her at her waist I could not help but focus upon his hand, waiting to see if he would attempt to take any liberties by slipping it lower than it needed to be, willing to run over and tear it off., if need be.

Brittany was right. I was turning into a green monster.

I breathed a sigh as she put a slight distance between them. She began to move with him. After the fourth run through and a few stepped on toes she passed him off to an expectant red head.

The blond dancer continued to skip and twirl amongst them, offering words of encouragement here and there. I was mesmerized by how she moved with such ease, owning the dance rather than allowing the dance to own her.

She was a natural. In a few short moments, she had turned lumbering sailors and club footed Dockers into some semblance of a dance troupe. Never once chiding and always patient. Even when someone stepped wrong or careened into another pair, she laughed, soothing them, alleviating their embarrassment.

My memories of dance lessons were of stifling rooms and awkwardness, surrounded by stiff backed perfectionists who thought nothing of slapping you with a stick whilst berating you for your lack of finesse.

I was sure that if Brittany had taught me, I might actually have enjoyed it and made the effort.

The pairs practised, giggling to each other at their miss steps and apologising to the other pairs when they collided. Some of the on lookers teased the dancers who simply called back, daring them to try. After a few more attempts, they all seemed to get it.

She clapped her hands, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Her expression that of a proud mother whose child had just uttered its first word.

"Yey people. Well done!" She exclaimed.

The band stopped as a scuffle broke out between the two teenage boys, causing the rest of the dancers to disperse, laughing and joking with each other.

Somebody from the crowd hollered,

"Come in Brittany! Show us _you're_ moves!"

"We saw plenty of that last night!" Someone jovially replied.

Kurt cupped his hands round his mouth,

"Come on Brittany! So them how its really done!"

She waved her hand in shy dismissal. The crowd began to stamp their feet in encouragement. She began chewing on her finger, shyly. Stepping forward, I shouted over the din.

"Please Britt! I would like to see!"

"There you can't refuse a lady."

For a few moments, she held my gaze, grinning broadly, before turning on the balls of her feet and bounding over to the band. She spoke into Pucks ear, gesturing with her hands to the drummer, a pipe player and a trumpeter, who up until this point had remained quiet, tapping out a beat.

The band members had a quick discussion amongst themselves whilst Brittany either nodded or shook her head. They struck up.

The music before had been much like an Irish gig. This was different. The drum came fast and steady whilst the trumpet and pipes cut in at intervals. Puck continued to play the bow across the fiddle.

It was shaky at first until the band members found their rhythm with each other. She cocked her head from side to side, listening. She motioned for them to speed up. It became deep and playful.

Stepping into the semi circle that had formed, she signalled them to move back a little to allow her space.

Satisfied she visibly shook herself out, rolling her shoulders and giving her backside a playful wiggle, with an over the top wink, causing the on lookers to titter and giggle. She encouraged the crowd to clap in time with the drum

I was in awe. They ate out of the palm of her hand.

Throwing me a small glance, she scrunched her face up in concentration.

Kurt moved closer to me,

"Miss Lopez, you're in for a treat."

Suddenly she spun round. Remaining in the centre of the semi circle, she kept her thighs close together and began to comically kick out her lower legs to the sides and forward. She raised her hands to her chest, keeping them palm down, waving them from side to side, as she began to hop on the balls of her feet, moving sideways across the deck.

She engaged the crowd with her antics and her faces as she moved.

I was in awe. They adored her and ate out of the palm of her hand.

She moved effortlessly. I caught a few steps from other dancing styles but she meshed them together with a fluidity and ease.

Suddenly she ran across the deck, throwing herself into a series of front flips and tumbles, landing in a cartwheel. The crowd whooped and hollered. She began to pin wheel backwards. A couple of the younger women, caught up in the excitement, hiked up their long skirts, ran into the dance space and began copying her.

She began to shimmy her shoulders and flap her hands once more. Caught in the moment she was so carefree. Her eyes crinkled in delight as she laughed with the other girls as they tried the moves.

At seeing her, in her element, wrapped in so much joy, something rolled over me in waves. I wanted to be apart of it. How she made everything around her seem so simple. Realisation hit me. I wanted to be apart of her life.

There was only one person who could help make that happen.

A warm hand enveloped my own, tugging me into the dance space and from my thoughts, as another hand gave me a playful shove at my back.

Pulling me after her, Brittany weaved between the other dancers, who had been joined by the children and one or two brave men. I quickly caught the movements, thanking my years of dance.

She broke us away from the rest. Forever occupying a free space, no matter the number of people surrounding us. She twirled me away from her and back.

My heart pounded in my chest as I felt hers heave against me, as we cavorted, spinning past John's parents and the small boy, who skipped around in excitement?

As we passed the band, Puck bellowed,

"Miss La De Da, I bet this is way more fun than your lot!"

Breathless, I smiled at Brittany in agreement. She continued to move us expertly through the crowd, pulling silly faces to make me giggle. We moved together as if we had been doing it for years, always knowing where to step. Almost anticipating each others movements. Shifting in unison.

She spun me round, dipping me down, her strong arm, supporting me round my waist and her leg between my skirts. She pulled me up, putting on a fake accent of an evil French villain,

"Madame, you are now my prisoner, forever, mwaa hahha haa."

I was smiling like a lunatic. My face felt as if it had split in two. I had a pain in my stomach and cheeks from laughing so hard.

"Please Britt!" I begged, "I can't breath!"

As the music lulled, I fell against her in exhaustion, my chest heaving against her own. Her hands stayed at the small of my back and held me at my shoulder. I allowed my hands to drift. I could feel every taunt ridge of muscle of her stomach and ribs and the firmness of her back. Resting my cheek against her collarbone as she held me, I let out a small contented sigh.

A small squeak escaped me as she suddenly tilted me back, our noses nearly touching. We were so close I could see every freckle on the bridge of her nose and her cheeks, how she had a slightly darker one just above her top lip, and count every sandy eyelash that surrounded her cat shaped eyes. We breathed the same air. The space between us sparked. Her shell pink lips parted. All I could see was bright blue flecked with gold. I trembled in anticipation.

There was a slow clap.

"Miss Santana Lopez! What a display! Bravo! I see you're feeling better!"

My blood ran cold at the voice.

In one swift move I scrabbled my feet beneath me, harshly shoving Brittany from my vicinity, in blind panic.

(It could not be?)

My stomach dropped like a lead weight as I looked up into the faces of Quinn, Sam and Amelie.

"Q Quinn?" I stammered.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Kurt approaching. The blood roared in my ears. Fighting nausea, I gasped for air.

Brittany reached out to me, full of concern,

"Princess, are you ok?"

I flinched from her touch. My eyes flickered to her face that was full of confusion and hurt.

"Princess?" Quinn trilled, "How quaint!"

To hear it from her lips, in that manner, made it sound ugly. Tainted.

As I struggled to catch my breath and find some sort of composure, Quinn stepped forward,

"Quinn Fabray."

"Brittany S Pierce." She replied, offering her hand.

Quinn ignored it, keeping her voice light,

"Brittany? Such an unusual but pretty name. My companions are Mr Samuel Evans and Miss Amelie DuPont. We are the closest of friends with Santana. It seems you have been keeping her from us."

"She's teaching a new way of dancing." I garbled.

She smiled her charming smile.

She was a wolf in sheep's clothing and the in which she was looking at Brittany, made me think Brittany was her dinner.

"Oh is that what you've been sneaking off to do." Stepping closer to Brittany, she smiled her sweetest smile, placing her hand on the taller girls arm in mock affection "I can see why she would be keeping you a secret. You're very pretty."

Brittany blushed, ducking her head to inspect the deck.

"Santana, " Quinn began, "You are quite selfish, keeping her to yourself, and leaving the rest of us full of worry at your health."

I began to shake as it all clicked into place.

Why Quinn had been behaving the way in which she had towards me.

How could I have been so stupid as to think that Quinn Fabray would let sleeping dogs lie?

Some how she knew!

How much had she seen?

How could I have been so careless?

Sam stepped forward taking Brittany's hand,

"Is a pleasure Miss Pierce. You are quite the dancer."

"Oui, " Amilie nodded in agreement, " I must admit I have not seen that dance in Paris."

"Paris!" Brittany exclaimed, "I love Paris!"

Quinn's eyebrows shot up in surprise, un able to keep the scoff from her tone,

"You have been to Paris?"

I blinked in astonishment as Brittany and Amelie began talking animatedly in broken English and French.

Quinn watched every gesture and expression like a hawk.

Kurt's soft voice broke in,

"Miss Fabray, Miss Brittany is an accomplished dancer and has travelled extensively across Europe whilst working in a variety of big named music halls. By the way might I say that, your dress is exquisite?"

Quinn turned her head, her cool eyes alighting upon the dapper young man, not missing a beat,

". Its good to see that at least someone in steerage has taste."

Kurt preened slightly.

I did not miss the way in which her gaze briefly lingered on Brittany then back to me.

Grinding my teeth, I clenched my fists. I wanted to scream and shout that the woman they were passing pleasantries with was a she demon. That nothing that they were seeing was real. However, I could not. I could do nothing until I found out the extent of Quinn's knowledge.

Keeping my voice steady, I asked,

"What are you doing down here? It is a little out of your comfort zone, is it not?"

Quinn waved her hand, once more smiling. It took all my resolve not to slap it off her face.

"Mr Evans wished to go on an adventure and what more of an adventure than seeing how the other half live? Plus the added delight of finding you here."

Clasping her hands together, she continued,

"Speaking of adventures, Miss Pierce, being that you have travelled extensively, you must have some rather interesting tales to tell? I'm sure our dinner guests would be fascinated to hear them."

I began, shakily,

"Britt!"

Quinn cut me off,

"Would you be so kind as to join us for dinner, tomorrow evening and regale us with your stories? As you can imagine the way in which we see Europe must pale in comparison to your experiences"

Sam and Amelie nodded in encouragement.

Brittany looked at Quinn wide eyed.

Over and over my head screamed "No! Refuse! Say No!"

Kurt bridled at the invitation, glaring at me. Cringing inwardly, I watched with dread as Brittany began to bounce with excitement. Kurt and I spoke in unison,

"I'm sure Britt has better things to do!"

She giggled,

"Don't be silly, I've nothing to do apart from being on the ship!"

The china doll before me became gleeful

"So you shall join us?"

Brittany nodded as Quinn took both of her hands, swinging them together as if they had been best friends for life,

"Excellent.. Tomorrow evening. 7 . First Class Dining Saloon. Wear something nice. I am sure Santana's maid could collect you.."

Bouncing on her dainty feet, she let out a girlish squeal,

"I'm so excited! Was a pleasure to finally meet you both, but we must be going. Bye"

She waved at them whilst Sam and Amelie followed her close behind.

Puck walked towards us doing a double take as she passed by.

"Who on this green earth was that?"

"The Devil!" I muttered, darkly.

"She can be my Devil anytime."

Running my hands through my hair defeatedly, I sighed,

"Not funny Puck!"

Brittany twirled her hair on the ends of her fingers, swaying back and forth

"You have nice friends San. It was really nice of them to invite me to dinner."

Kurt continued to glare at me, his nostrils flared as he snapped,

"You and I need to talk!"

"Later Kurt!" I shouted back.

He turned on his heel and stormed off down the deck.

"What's going on?" Puck asked in confusion, looking between the retreating boy, Brittany and I

"Come on Santana! We would not want to be late. I would say you need a bath after your exertions." Quinn sing songed down the deck

I buried my head in my hands groaning. Too much was happening too fast.

"Princess are you ok?"

I felt her touch my hands, I twisted away from her, snarling,

"Britt! Stop!"

Immediately, I regretted it.

Puck held up his hands in defence,

"Whoa! Whoa! What the hell? Don't talk to her like that!"

Her eyes began to brim with tears and her bottom lip trembled. Guilt flooded me. I had not meant for this to happen. I reached for her. She took a step back.

"Brittany! Brittany!" a rich round voice called. "My mistress would like to see you!"

Sweeping the palm of her hand across her cheek, she asked, her voice thick,

"Your Mistress?"

A small, curvaceous black woman, wearing a maids uniform approached us.

"Ms Sylvester. She said to stop flapping about and come to her cabin. Her words. Not mine!"

Whipping round, scanning the First class Promenade, I could make out Ms Sylvester leaning against the railings of the outdoor-seated area of the Café Parisian, watching all before her.

As Jones and Brittany began to walk away, Kurt's words rang in my ears.

(Prove it!)

If Quinn wished to lead Brittany and I, like lambs to slaughter, I would make damn sure I had a lion on my side.

"Jones!" I called.

The coloured maid and Brittany stopped.

"And you would be?"

I was a little taken a back from her lack of manners. Quickly, I made my way over to them both. Brittany avoided looking at me, her bottom lips firmly sucked between her teeth.

"Santana Lopez."

Jones' face light up in recognition.

"Oh, you're Rachel's boss. One of the good ones by all accounts. What can I do for you?"

After the last meal, I knew I was taking a stab in the dark,

"Would you be as kind as to ask Ms Sylvester if she would be able to put aside a bit of her precious time tomorrow.. I understand that she is an incredibly busy woman but it is of the utmost importance that I speak with her privately"

"I can ask her. But I'm not making any promises that she will."

"Thank you."

They turned to walk away. I reached out, grabbing Brittany's hand,

"Britt-Britt, I'm truly sorry. I didn't mean to."

"It's ok Santana. I get it."

The use of my full name seared me. I squeezed her hand,

"I got to go. And so should you. You do not want to be late for your dinner. I'll see you tomorrow, if you still want to."

"Always!"

She gave me a weak smile, before turning away and following Jones along the deck.

Pucks gruff voice caused me to jump,

"Would someone tell me what's going on?"

A plan began formulating in my head.

"Noah, ask Kurt to tell you and when you see him tell him that it's going to be ok and I'll speak with him in the morning."

He scratched his head in confusion,

"Ok."

I tugged on his shirt for emphasis, I pleaded,

"Promise me you will tell him exactly what I just said to you!"

Shaking him in desperation, I exclaimed,

"Noah!"

"Ok! Ok! Let go you crazy woman! Just as long as you bring the Devil next time?"

Letting go of his shirt, I smoothed my skirts.

"Not happening Noah!"

He shrugged at me good-naturedly

"Well it was worth a try."

I could not help but break a small smile at his roguishness.

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**Sorry it took so long to update and thank you all so much for your patience.**

**You know when you just have one of those months and a crisis of confidence with your work and what not. Well yeah.. **

**This chapter was written 5 different ways from Sunday and then it sneak attacked me. **

"


	14. Chapter 14

I'd just like to say a huge thank you to everyone who followed or favourite and reviewed and to anyone else that is reading this. Your mails and messages where appreciated.

I do not have a beta at the moment so any grammatical errors and spelling mistakes are my own. I apologise. I am looking for a beta so if any one is interested drop me a line.

You can also get in contact at my handle. Tumblr . com

Hope u like it.

Chapter 14

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**Santana P.O.V **

_12TH April. HMS Titanic, Deck B, Port side_

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Pushing open the door of the cabin with such force it banged against the wall behind it, I screamed into the room,

"That infernal harpy!"

Rachel whipped round in fright, clutching a duster to her chest. Bracing herself against the mantle, she squeaked,

"Miss Santana, my heart!"

Upon seeing my expression, she added, full of concern,

"What on earth is the matter?"

Ignoring her, I stormed from room to room, checking to see if we were alone, muttering under my breath in Spanish as I slammed the doors shut in my wake.

"Are you ok?" she inquired, timidly.

Throwing myself on my knees at my vanity, I barked,

"Do I look ok to you?"

Tugging open the small drawers, I began rifling through their contents. Letting out a scream of frustration at being unable to find what I was looking for, I rammed them closed with a bang.

In an attempt to ground myself and calm my swirling thoughts, I gripped the solid edge of the vanity until my knuckles turned white, tipping my head forward and allowing myself to breathe properly.

(What did Quinn think she had seen?)

(Why the invitation?)

(I never meant for this!)

(Brittany will hate me!)

(How could I be so stupid?)

The words bounced around inside my head, repeating themselves, rising into a crescendo where I could no longer distinguish them from one another. In an attempt to drown them out, I bellowed,

"Rachel, where the hell are my God damn cigarettes?"

Lifting my head at the sound of metal upon wood, my silver cigarette case appeared at eye level.

"Ms Oakville told me to get rid of them, so I hid them in your picture box."

I smiled up at Rachel weakly,

"You're a life saver. What would I do without you? "

Taking my arm, gently, she helped me to my feet as she teased,

"You would be up for murder, no doubt. Now tell me what has you running around as if you are about to depose Satan, himself?"

Picking up the small, metal box, I spat,

"Fabray!"

In my temper, my feet carried me out on to the Tudoresque deck. The clasp of the silver case felt alien beneath my fingers as I struggled to pry it open. Removing one of the slender cylinders, I brought it to my lips as I muttered,

"She invited Britt to dinner."

I caught the brief smell of sulphur as Rachel struck a match, holding out the dancing flame before me. Cupping my hand around it, I leant forward.

Inhaling, I continued,

"Not a private dinner either. A full-blown, 'let's show how charitable we are by inviting a pauper to dine with us' type of affair"

"Oh. I see." came the soft reply.

I watched as Rachel began busying herself, pruning the dead, brown leaves from the numerous potted plants placed along the decking. Drumming my fingers against the wooden railing, I stated,

"I think she means to make sport of her."

Continuing her task, the brown-haired woman threw over her shoulder,

"Are you sure?"

Taking a long drag of the sweet tobacco, I replied, darkly,

"What other reason could she possibly have for inviting a member of steerage to a First Class Dinner?"

Turning to face me, Rachel tipped her head to one side,

"What do you propose to do? You can hardly allow a girl as sweet as Brittany to walk into that nest of vipers unprepared?" Approaching me, she added, "They will eat her alive!"

It was as if she read my mind.

Shrugging dejectedly, I murmured,

"I don't know what to do."

Rachel rubbed her hands together, crushing the brittle leaves within them. Holding out her palm over the side of the liner, we watched in silence as the remnants, caught by a gust of wind, fluttered off into the distance.

I stared out across the deep ocean; squinting at the place it met the early evening sky on the horizon.

The sound of knocking resonated through the cabin.

Excusing herself, Rachel disappeared into the room, leaving me to my tempestuous thoughts.

I yearned to tell my closest friend the truth.

To tell her I was drawn to the strange dancer, like a moth to a flame and I was powerless to stop the feelings I harboured towards her.

To tell her I feared that Quinn was somehow aware of my affections, affections that ought to be reserved for my fiancé and that she meant to use them against me.

That the younger Fabray would wait until the opportune moment to voice her suspicions of such a scandal and would have no qualms shredding Britt's and my reputations into tatters.

That I felt the motives behind the invitation was to do just that.

It is what I, myself, would do in her position.

Stubbing the cigarette on the side of the liner, imagining it was Quinn, I flicked the filter between my thumb and forefinger, watching as it tumbled, down to the waves far below, until I could no longer make it out.

"Miss Santana, Miss Fabray is here to see you."

(Speak of the Devil.)

Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to keep calm.

Any slip in my behaviour would surely reveal that which I wished to keep hidden.

Quinn was by no means stupid. She would access every mannerism and word that came from my lips.

Every conversation I had with her, I thought of like a battle.

Our words, the sound of our swords clashing, the ability to control our body language and expressions, our shields.

We would stab and slash at each other, waiting for a grimace or lack of retort to signify the appearance of a chink within our carefully constructed armour, before finally driving the tip of our blade into the others very heart with a well placed quip or scathing witticism.

With so much at stake, I could not afford to lose.

Bracing myself, I turned on my most wining smile as she stepped onto the deck, fighting the urge to cringe at her sickly sweet voice as she gushed,

"Every time I see this view I am astounded and I can see why Richard paid handsomely for it."

An unspoken "It should be mine!" hung in the air.

Keeping my expression fixed, I breezily replied,

"Quinnie, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Casting her eyes around the promenade, she trilled,

"Does a lady need an excuse to share a beverage with her dearest friend? My Mother and your Aunt are playing bridge with some of the other ladies onboard, I thought I would keep you company. "

For a brief moment, our eyes locked.

(Liar.)

Strolling down the deck, I gestured to the small wicker chairs at the breakfast table,

"Please have a seat."

Seating myself, I continued,

"What would you like? Tea? Something stronger, perhaps?"

The Fabray's were renowned for being unable to hold their liquor. It was well known that Russell became aggressive and opinionated when under the influence and I had heard rumour, that where alcohol was concerned, Quinn was very much his daughter.

I hoped that by helping her become slightly intoxicated it would loosen her tongue a little and make it easier for me to ascertain her true motivations for the invitation and what conclusions she had drawn from seeing Brittany and I dancing together.

Lowering herself, gracefully, into the seat across from me, she replied,

"I think wine shall suffice."

"Any particular vintage?" I queried.

Beaming at me, she peeled her white lace gloves from her delicate hands,

"The best of course!"

Clicking my fingers at Rachel, who hovered at the entrance to the cabin, I demanded,

"You! Put those stumps you call legs to good use and fetch me a bottle of my father's Cava and be quick about it!"

She disappeared into the room. Quinn let out a titter at my insult,

"How on earth do you allow her man hands to handle your dresses? Do you not fear that she shall ruin them?"

Waving my hand, dismissively, I replied,

"She has her uses."

Rachel returned with a silver tray, laden with two tall crystal wine glasses and a small silver bucket containing the bottle. Placing them on the table, she went to reach for the champagne.

"Stop!" I commanded. "I shall do it myself!"

Throwing Quinn an evil smirk, I added,

"Go! I do not wish for your face to turn it sour before it hits the glass!"

Internally, I winced as I watched Rachel's throat bob at my comment.

"Yes Miss Santana." She whispered, dropping herself into a slight curtsy before returning to her position beside the door.

I would make sure to apologise later.

Quinn observed the retreating maid whilst I poured the champagne, filling her wine glass to the brim and pouring myself only half.

She gasped at the sight,

"Santana, this is a wine glass not a flute. It is too much!"

"Don't be silly," I declared, "How else do you suppose I make it through those tedious dinners?"

Crossing my fingers, I waited, as she pondered my offer, turning the glass, this way and that, inspecting the bubbly liquid.

My ruse lacked finesse and subtlety, but I was desperate and had little time.

Settling herself, she crossed one leg over the other before raising the glass to her lips and taking a huge sip. Closing her eyes, she swallowed, letting out a satisfied hum at the taste.

My Father's Cava was known to be potent and not to be trifled with.

Letting out a quiet sigh of relief, I took a tiny sip of my own.

Setting her glass down on the table, she traced her fingers up and down the stem; her hazel eyes shifting briefly to Rachel then back to me. She cleared her throat,

"Santana, I must confess, apart from your delightful company and the generous amounts of wine you provide, I do have an ulterior motive for calling upon you."

(En Garde!)

She continued to toy with her glass, never taking her eyes from me,

"I am concerned with the company that you are choosing to keep, of late."

I blinked, keeping my expression blank as my mind raced.

Since when did Quinn Fabray suddenly care for my reputation? Since the announcement of my engagement, she had spent every waking moment attempting to undermine it.

Feigning ignorance, I parried,

"What ever do you mean?"

"That dim witted girl, Brittany and her negotiable companion, Kurt!"

Arching an eyebrow, I took another small sip to hide my irritation at Quinn's insult of the dancer.

"You can not tell me you haven't noticed?"

I remained silent. Taking another gulp of her wine, she continued,

"A man in steerage does not own clothes that fine unless, he stole them, someone bought them for him or his family fell from grace. I have asked around and the Hummels, nobody has heard of them!"

Lighting a cigarette, I replied tersely,

"So what you're trying to say is, because he takes pride in his appearance, has a liking for finely tailored clothing and just so happens to own one or two pieces, he must be a whore or a villain?"

"What other explanation is there?"

Tipping the ash into the ashtray, I ventured,

"Perhaps he is new money and his ventures up and coming?"

Her eyes flittered between my face and the cigarette. There was a slight crinkle of disapproval at her brow. As quick as it appeared, it was gone.

"If that was the case, then why on earth would he choose steerage? He would prefer to travel Second Class, would he not? He strikes me as the sort of person who enjoys the finer things."

I reproached,

"I do not make it my business to ask the private details of others, Quinnie."

"Maybe you ought to?" she curtly replied.

I quipped,

"Would that not be perceived as the height of bad manners?"

The corners of her pink lips turned up slightly, peering at me over the top of her wine glass, her voice laced with treacle,

"I'm intrigued. How did you come to meet them?"

Refusing to take the bait, I batted back,

"I told you. She is a dance teacher and I wished to learn."

In frustration at being unable to pry anything from me, she snarled, viciously,

"Comes highly recommended does she?"

Smiling at myself, I danced inside, barely one glass down and she was already beginning to lose her composure. I poured her another,

"Like Kurt said, she is quite renowned, so much so, Ms Sylvester wishes to bring her under her employ!"

The small blond shifted in her seat at my admission,

"That may be the case. But did you really have to choose one of her kind?"

Curiosity got the better of me,

"What do you mean one of her kind? A music hall girl?"

Quinn let out a cackle. Leaning forward, she lowered her voice,

"I believe Miss Brittany to be a Sapphite!"

I froze, glass raised, hovering between my lips and the table, giving Quinn a sidelong glance.

Her face, flushed and twisted into a mask of wicked delight, she began to explain,

"A Sapphite is a woman who prefers the exclusive company of women!"

"I know what a Sapphite is!" I snapped.

"With your sheltered up bringing I hardly expected you to know!"

Cold fear had coursed through me at way her eyes had shone and danced as she announced the potentially life threatening revelation.

She enjoyed having that knowledge

The way she had relished saying the word that could cause someone to be incarcerated or worse, committed.

She enjoyed having that power.

I had caught a brief glimpse of it!

It sickened me to my stomach.

I traced the pattern etched into the crystal, keeping the waver from my voice,

"That is quite an accusation! What makes you think such a thing?"

She sighed, girlishly,

"Oh you know, her mannerisms, her choice of clothing."

Her eyes narrowed as her tone became suddenly harsh

"The way she held you!"

Spinning the glass in my hand, I deflected,

"That is simply her style of teaching!"

Slamming both her hands on the table, she rose slightly out of her seat as she hissed,

"Santana! Do not be so naive! She is sweet on you! The pet names, the touches, she is all too familiar with you! What on earth do you think Richard and your Aunt shall make of this?"

At the mention of my Aunt and fiancé, the hairs at the nape of my neck stood on end, I growled,

"Nothing, because you are sorely mistaken! And if you truly thought such things, then why on earth did you invite her to dine with us?"

Seating herself back down, a devious smirk played across her lips as she idly wiggled her fingers in the wake of the distorted rays of light cast by her glass,

"I think it would be rather entertaining, don't you?" I hardly imagine that she shall know how to conduct herself in polite company."

"How can you be so heartless?" I breathed.

Giggling, she teased,

"Santana, the way you're defending her anyone would think that you have feelings for her."

I nearly choked on my wine at her words. Fighting back the rising panic, I stuttered,

"N n no! Like I said, I think that you are wrong. I simply do not believe in being unnecessarily cruel!

"Santana, are you becoming soft in your old age? If I recall correctly you used to love torturing the help!"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rachel stiffen.

Quinn watched me from beneath her light lashes, gauging my reaction as she added, playfully,

"You are more than welcome to un invite her if you feel she shall be uncomfortable in our company."

Quinn Fabray knew exactly what she was doing.

She had me trapped.

If I were to un invite Brittany, it would look like I had something to hide and confirm Quinn's suspicions, not to mention that I would be adding insult to the previous injury of shouting at the dancer and flinching from her touch, causing her to think that I was ashamed of our acquaintance, when I was anything but.

However, if I allowed her to attend, I would be opening her up to ridicule. I would be unable to protect her, openly, without running the risk of exposing us both, unless….

Taking my thoughtful silence as indecision, she cajoled,

"Come on Santana, it will be like the old days!"

The old days!

The summer I turned eleven, my Aunt, insisting that I needed to be around girls my own age and station, had invited the Fabray's to stay with us. She had assured my father that it would be best for me and that Mr Fabray would make a valuable business associate.

One particular scorching day, much to Quinn and My chagrin, we had been made attend our lessons instead of being allowed to wile away our day by the lake.

Quinn came up with a plan that, she assured me, would give us the freedom to pursue our own activities. Sticky, irritable and wanting nothing more than to plunge myself beneath the cool waters, I had listened.

It entailed slipping one of my mother's earrings into the unfortunate tutor's belongings.

Wishing to impress the seemingly sophisticated and mature girl, even though I knew it was wrong, I had followed her instruction, kicking up a fuss, saying I had noticed it was missing.

My Aunt had demanded that every member of staff's quarters and belongings be searched.

Upon finding the earring, the tutor began to protest her innocence, my Aunt paid no attention, firing her and telling her, she was to be escorted from hacienda as soon as she was packed.

As the French woman sobbed, she had nowhere else to go; my Father's eyes never left me. Eventually the woman's distress became too much. Wracked with guilt I ran to my father, tearfully confessing.

Quinn sat innocently wide-eyed, claiming it was all my idea. Both Judy and my Aunt believed that I had attempted to lead her astray. Russell passed it off as a wild spirited prank, commending me for being so resourceful in wanting to achieve my goal.

My father, on the other hand, was furious.

He sent me to my room, without lunch or dinner. Waking me in the morning, he had asked if I was hungry.

I had been ravenous.

He gave me a stern lecture, explaining the consequences of my actions, that by doing what I had done I could of caused the tutor to lose her livelihood completely, and that feeling of hunger I had, would be ten times worse for her as she would be facing it every day.

As further punishment, he forced me to endure the humiliation that Quinn and I had inflicted upon the tutor by making me admit what I had done and apologise to her in front of the whole serving staff. He then banned me from the stables for a month.

However, he did allow me to go to the lake for being brave and confessing.

He was the only one who believed I was not the instigator and told me that he thought Rachel was a much better influence and as a companion, she would do just fine.

After the incident, the Fabray's didn't stay long and needless to say they were never invited back and from then on my father choose to conduct business with Mr Fabray else where.

I had no wish to be a part of any of Quinn's nefarious plans, especially where Brittany was concerned.

Nonchalantly I took a sip of my wine,

"Don't be absurd, I think Brittany is more than capable of spending an evening in our company."

Quinn blinked at me in surprise, the smile on her lips, faltering.

(Not expecting that where we?)

(Lopez 1 – Fabray 0)

The lights on the decking flickered to life.

"It grows late," Quinn mused, knocking back the rest of her champagne, "I must get ready for dinner."

She rose to leave, pausing, she observed me, glassy eyed,

"What do you suppose she shall wear?"

I shrugged, hoping she would take it as indifference.

She grinned at me like a crocodile,

"I guess we have something to look forward to then."

I nodded in agreement,

"I guess we do."

Throwing back her head, she laughed,

"This should be fun. Thank you for the wine. "

Swaying slightly as she made her way to the door of the cabin, she called,

"I'll see you at dinner Lopez!"

Once she was gone, I downed my champagne and re lit my cigarette.

I knew what I had to do.

I had to warn Brittany.

"Rachel? What is Sue Sylvester's cabin number?"

X

X

**Brittany P.O.V **

_Deck B, Starboard. _

X

X

Following Jones along the brightly lit corridors, I marvelled at the difference between the narrow, sparsely decorated and packed passages Kurt, Puck and I frequented and the wide airy hallways of the Upper Class deck.

The walls were painted in eggshell and were warm to the touch. The lavish carpet, under foot, felt soft, cushioning our steps as we padded along.

The solid looking, deep brown doors were fewer and spaced further apart. From each one hung brass numbers and the ornate doorknobs shone.

"Come!" Jones chided, "It does not do to keep my Mistress waiting!"

I was surprised at the speed with which the curvaceous maid moved. Skipping to keep up, I whispered, loudly,

"What do you think she wants with me?"

"I don't know Brittany. I gave up trying to make either head or tail of her a long time ago. Personally, I think she's as mad as a bag of cats!"

Catching up with her, I replied,

"Well if I put Lord Tubbington into a bag full of cats, he would be mad too. He probably wouldn't talk to me for a week."

Her steps faltered. She seemed to contemplate my answer before giving a slight shake of her head and pressing on.

As we continued, we passed small pockets of people, in groups of twos and threes, dressed in very expensive outfits. I could not help but think how much Kurt would enjoy being here, commenting on all the clothes.

One woman with a squashed faced dog with huge, brown, runny eyes, crinkled her nose with disgust as we passed.

"Cute dog!" I quipped.

Tugging on his leash, she recoiled, flouncing down the hallway with her nose in the air.

Other passengers hushed or stopped their conversations all together as we approached, observing us with either curiosity or disdain.

Jones did not seem to notice.

I was used to being stared at, but this felt different. I felt like a fly about to be swatted.

It set me on edge.

"Jones, they are staring. I don't like it!"

"Pay no mind to them; you have every right to be here. You were invited."

Was this what it was like for Santana? Living in a goldfish bowl!

On the other hand, maybe, Santana, was the same as these people, judging me, but too polite to say.

She had recoiled from my touch once her First Class friends had appeared. I had despaired at the sight of her shrinking into herself, remaining silent, as her friends had seemed more than pleased to make our acquaintance.

I had not expected her to tell them of my companions, and I after what she had shared with me, but her coldness and withdrawal had stung, none the less.

I could not shake the feeling that she had been embarrassed and ashamed of us.

Had Kurt been right all along?

Despite Santana's previous warning of Quinn, I found the dainty blond to be welcoming and cordial.

Whilst Santana's beauty was wild, sensual and mischievous and set my heart hammering, Quinn's was one of dignity, poise and refinement.

"Jones," I ventured, "What do you know of Quinn Fabray?"

She stopped abruptly, her eyes furtively looking up and down the corridor, like a mouse expecting Lord Tubbington to appear, she whispered,

"It is not my place to say."

I was confused,

"I don't understand. You talk about your Mistress all the time."

"That's different!" She snapped.

"Why?"

She rolled her eyes in exasperation,

"Brittany, I do not have time to explain."

She tutted under breath, attempting to smooth my hair and swatting at my clothes.

"Listen carefully. When you meet my Mistress, do not speak unless spoken to. Sue has one hell of a temper."

Beginning to panic, I stuttered,

"I, I shouldn't be here!"

I turned to flee.

A strong hand gripped my collar, dragging me towards one of the doors.

"Brittany Pierce! Pull yourself together this minute!" Jones scolded. "You are more than capable of throwing yourself around a stage for all to see."

I tried not to go crossed eyed as I focused on the finger she waved in my face.

"And that's what you are going to do! You are going to go in there and you are going to think of my Mistress as nothing more than a member of the audience you are trying to impress! Is that clear?"

Seeing the stern expression on the shorter woman's face, I mumbled,

"Give me a minute."

"Hurry on. I have better things to be doing than chaperoning your sorry behind about the place."

Closing my eyes, I swallowed a huge gulp of air.

"Are you ready?"

I nodded, worrying my bottom lip between my teeth,

Taking my arm, she gave it a reassuring squeeze,

"Do as you're told and you will do just fine."

Turning the handle, she pushed the heavy door open, ushering me inside. A blast of dry heat hit me. Jones guided me into the room.

"Stay there!" She demanded, "Don't touch anything!" after a few moments, she added, "In fact, don't even move!"

She shuffled off, disappearing through a door on my left, leaving me alone.

Wringing my hands together to calm my nerves, I took in my surroundings.

I had never been inside a stately home but it was how I imagined them to be. The room was vast, bigger than any living quarters I had ever seen. It was at least ten times the size of my own.

In the far wall a fire roared, surrounded by a dark mantelpiece, decorated with pretty shells. Set atop was a small ticking clock. Above it hung a large mirror, reflecting the room back into itself, making it seem larger still.

Over in the corner stood a light brown table, littered with sheets of paper and books and flanked either side by comfortable looking armchairs.

The walls were a deep crimson, bare save for the brass light fixtures that swept towards the ceiling, that cast dim shadows into the room.. There was another door to my right, firmly closed.

The only sounds to keep me company were the crackle of the fire and the ticking of the clock.

Muffled conversation drifted towards me from the door that Jones had disappeared through. My stomach churned. Pulling at the thread of my jacket, I began to worm my toes into the green and gold pattern of the carpet. I jumped as a voice barked,

"Pierce! About time!"

Before me stood a thin woman with short blond hair set in waves, scowling, hands on her hips and feet set wide apart. The sleeves of her crisp white shirt rolled up past her elbows; her red wide bottomed trousers reminded me of clown pants. In her presence, I suddenly became aware of my shabby appearance.

Matching her gaze as she stalked towards me, I fought the urge to avert my eyes. She smirked like Lord Tubbington when he got into the cream.

"Fear and Terror. Very good. That's what I like to see!"

Behind her Jones rolled her eyes, placing a small tea set on the table before disappearing back the way she came.

Curiosity made me bold.

"How do you know who I am?"

"Miss Pierce, I make it my business to know everything about my potential employees. Information is currency. That and intimidation are all the weapons one needs. Master that and you can rule the world." She looked me up and down, adding "Something, I'm sure, you will never have any understanding of!"

"Potential employee?" I queried, "What do you want with me? I'm just a dancer!"

She scoffed,

"Is your head full of sand?"

I returned her look, blankly.

She continued,

"Do you not know who I am?"

"You're Jones' boss?" I ventured.

A look of sheer disbelief crossed her lined features.

"That and more besides. I am Sue Sylvester!"

Beckoning me to step further into the room, she demanded,

"Come here, let's have a look at you!"

My eyes darted between Sue and Jones, who hovered in the doorway, cups in hand.

Snapping her fingers at me, Sue roared,

"Come on! Chop, Chop. I haven't got all day!"

Settling the tremble in my hands, I propelled myself forward. Looming, she began to circle me. I turned to face her. Taking my shoulders in a vice like grip, she cursed,

"Stand still God damnit!"

I froze, rooted to the spot.

Circling me once more, she flicked my jacket at intervals, uming and ahhing to herself as her piercing blue eyes roved over me.

Sweat began to prickle at my back and my throat became dry. I did not know if it was nerves or from the stifling heat of the room. The tinkle of china and spoons could be heard as Jones began to pour the tea.

"Take it off!"

My eyes went wide. Madame Carmellota had warned me that the Upper Classes had strange tastes when it came to certain things. Had I unknowingly walked into one of those strange situations? I stammered,

"W,w, what?"

The tall woman sneered,

"Are you deaf as well as dumb? Your jacket, take it off!"

I looked at Jones who inclined her head in encouragement. Quickly I rid myself of the garment.

The intimidating blond turned back the sleeves of Kurt's shirt, turning my wrists this way and that, sweeping up to feel my upper arms. Then her fingers began to press firmly against my ribs and the muscles of my back

I stifled a giggle. She fixed me with a stern stare.

"What?" I rasped, "It tickles!"

Holding my squirms to a minimum, she continued to inspect me, running her hands down the out side of my thighs and my calves, muttering under her breath, 'not bad'. Satisfied, she stood up.

"Sit!" She commanded.

My legs buckled, depositing me on to a nearby lounge chair. Perching on the edge, I began to twist my jacket in my hands.

"Jones, give her some tea before she chokes on her own tongue."

Sue settled herself on one of the armchairs at the table, one leg over the other. She rested her elbows on the armrests, her left hand obscuring the bottom half of her face, never taking her eyes from me.

Jones handed me a small white cup and saucer. I thanked her. She replied with a curt nod before setting about making Sue a cup.

"Sugar Mistress?"

Sue waved her away,

"Just the tea, Jones."

Moving my jacket across my lap, I sipped on the sweet brown liquid as Jones handed a similar cup and saucer to the strange woman.

"Where's the bushy midget?"

With a shake of her head, Jones replied, softly,

"I do not know Mistress"

"What is the point of a husband if he does not do what he is told? A chimpanzee would do a much better job. Remind me again, why I can't fire him?"

"You can, Mistress, but it's called divorce."

Sue muttered, darkly, scowling into her tea.

"Stupid law! When we get to America I am going to have some serious words with members of Congress"

I was lost and it was still unclear as to why I had been brought here.

Working up the courage, I asked, timidly,

"Ms Sylvester, your room is really pretty and it's really nice of you to give me tea but I still don't know why you asked me to come."

She whipped her head in my direction. For a brief second she looked surprised to see me there, it was as if she had forgotten.

"I brought you here to ask you some questions."

I mumbled into my cup as I went to take a sip,

"I thought you knew everything?"

"Miss Pierce, I find it prudent to double check and air on the side of caution."

I returned her stare,

"Let me explain it in a way that peanut you call a brain can comprehend. I am a talent scout!"

I sat to attention, listening intently as she continued,

"I saw your display earlier. If a little mediocre, your routine intrigued me none the less." Her fingers began to sift through the papers before her. "Jones tells me you plan on the Moving Pictures. What makes you think you're good enough?"

"Well I'm here aren't I?" I challenged.

She cackled,

"You have moxy. I like it!"

Taking a sip of her tea and placing it back on the saucer, she asked

"How long would it take you to teach a troupe of lets say, "She paused, deep in thought, "30, one routine?"

I mulled it over,

"If they are professionals and its one of my own routines, not too complicated… I would say. Stagger the groups, maybe over a month."

"How would accomplish that?"

"First I would split them into groups, because smaller groups make it easier to spot if people are struggling, then when they had it down I would merge them together. Sort of like I did on the deck"

I caught the hint of a smile and I knew, somehow, I had managed to impress her.

"Miss Pierce. I was beginning to think that you were a huge waste of my time."

I flushed with pride at her odd back handed compliment.

Sharply she fired off a question,

"Your Father?"

"Daniel Pierce, Top Banana comedian." I replied.

"Mother?"

"Eloise, ballerina."

She steepled her fingers,

"No doubt, her career ended when she gave birth to you. I find motherhood gets in the way and is better suited for the weak and the brainless, so if you are intending to start a family any time soon I suggest you leave my cabin."

I shook my head fervently,

"No Ms Sylvester. The stage is all I know; when my parents passed, it became my home."

She raised her eyebrow at me.

"You're a music hall brat?"

Shifting in my seat, I nodded.

"As my pathetic excuse of a husband isn't here we shall continue this discussion tomorrow evening."

"I cant, I have plans." I replied.

Glaring at me, she exclaimed,

"What is more important than me?"

"I have been invited to dinner by Miss Fabray."

Narrowing her steely eyes, her brow furrowed,

"Quinn Fabray? Surely not?"

Tight lipped, she continued to observe me. I felt the need to explain myself so she would not think I was lying,

"She wants to hear of my travels."

"I'm sure she does. What do you plan to wear?"

Finishing my tea, I rested the saucer and the cup upon my lap. I had not put any thought as to what I might wear. Santana always looked like royalty attending a ball. Embarrassed, I mumbled,

"I have a dress."

Sue snorted,

"Rags, no doubt."

My cheeks burned as I thought about my old blue dress that I had left in the laundry that morning. It would pale in comparison to the finery I had seen Santana and Quinn wear, but at least it would be clean.

Pulling out a piece of paper, Sue dipped her pen into an ink well and began to write.

"11:30 tomorrow morning you shall be clean and presentable, wearing the dish cloth you call a dress. You shall meet my husband outside this door. If you are uncomfortable being alone with a gentleman, you are more than welcome to bring that woodland creature I have seen you frolicking about with." She looked at Jones for confirmation, "Kurt is it?"

The maid nodded.

There was a loud bang, which caused me to flinch and nearly drop my teacup, as she rammed a stamp onto the paper. Folding it, she held it out at arms length.

"Here, take this. If anyone stops you on your way back to whatever rock you inhabit, show them this. That also goes for in the morning. Don't lose it!"

Getting up, I handed my cup to Jones. Making my way to the table, I reached out for the paper. Sue snatched it back,

"Do not take this as definite employment. We have much to discuss and I am sure I will find something about you that shall disappoint me. I work with the best and I demand perfection. This, today, was just a formality."

Gingerly I took the piece of paper from her grasp. She let go reluctantly, her cold eyes boring into mine. Gently, I folded it into quarters, slipping it into my jacket pocket.

"Scarecrow, do not be late." She warned, "Call this a trial run. I want to see if you can follow simple instructions. Is that clear?"

I nodded.

"Now leave, your very presence is offending my eyes."

I threw Jones a wink before hurriedly exiting the sweltering room.

X

Once outside, I leant against the cool wall, pulling out the sacred letter.

It was all so surreal.

Unable to contain my excitement, I whooped, jumping in the air, kicking my heels together.

Up ahead a group of women scowled at me but I did not care.

I was one-step closer to my dream

If I played my cards right, and the odd woman and her husband were in the industry of the Moving Pictures as they claimed to be, I could very well find myself in my dream job.

If I gained definite employment, then I could dress properly and Santana would not be embarrassed of me

If she knew I was making money and maybe one day would be able to buy her things she was accustomed to, then maybe she would say yes when I drummed up the courage to ask her to consider joining me.

You could make it big in the Moving Pictures.

At first, I would not earn much, well not the amount she was used to living on, but enough that we would be able to get a small set of rooms until we had enough for a place of our own.

The more pictures I worked on, the more people would see my work and know who I was and the more I would earn. I imagined being able to one-day buy her pretty dresses and taking her to fine restaurants.

A firm grip on my upper arm, tugging me, gently, into one of the smaller passageways, brought me from my daydreams.

"Santana?" I gasped in surprise, "What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you." Her face became serious, "It's important."

Slipping her smaller hand into mine, she continued to lead me down the narrow passageway, trailing her fingers along the wall, her lips moving silently, as if speaking to herself.

Suddenly she came to an abrupt halt at a narrow white door. Bending over she obscured my view of what she was doing. I heard a slight click and the door before us sprang open.

Taking one last quick glance up and down the corridor, she ushered me inside, closing the door firmly behind her.

Overhead a single bulb illuminated the small space, either side of us were shelves full to the brim of white sheets. In one of the corners rested a mop and bucket.

"How did you find this place?"

She replied, matter a factly,

"Rachel. It makes it easier for the servants so they don't have to run up and down the decks and offending the rest of the passengers."

I bit my bottom lip, fighting back the tears.

Only a few moments ago I had been happily imagining what it would be like to have Santana by my side in California, as my equal and my lover. And now, here we were, hiding away in a linen cupboard that smelt of starch and soap flakes.

She turned to look at me,

"What are you thinking, my love?"

I sniffled,

"Don't call me that."

Cupping my cheeks in her small, soft hands, she lifted my head to meet her deep brown eyes, full of concern.

The over whelming realisation that my daydreams, were just that and she would never choose me, came crashing down around me. My vision began to blur as I lost the battle and my tears began to flow freely.

She queried, full of worry,

"Brittany, what is wrong?"

Taking hold of her wrists, I removed her hands. I wanted nothing more than to relax into her touch but I needed to know. I needed to know in order to put an end to the wretched feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Taking a step back, I created as much space between us as possible. I could not concentrate with her so close, with her big brown eyes and luscious lips that begged to be kissed.

My breath hitched. With trepidation I asked,

"Do you not wish to be seen with a member of steerage?"

Her brow pinched together and the corners of her mouth turned down as she shook her head,

"Oh no Britt, why would you think that?"

Wiping away the tears with the sleeve of my jacket, I husked,

"The way you were with me earlier," I gestured to our surroundings, "We are hiding in a closet!"

"Britt! I am trying to protect you!" She exclaimed.

"From what?" I yelled.

She began to pick at her nails,

"There are people out there that won't understand, people who mean to cause us harm!"

"Like who?" I demanded, angrily.

She chewed the inside of her cheek before she replied, calmly,

"Quinn, for one."

"I don't understand. If she is so horrible, why would she invite me to dinner?"

Santana's exquisite features became dark and brooding as she struggled with herself. Slumping back against the shelves, she sighed,

"She invited you in order to make fun of you, Brittany! She told me so herself less than half an hour ago. It's why I came to find you."

Kurt was right; they _did_ play with people's lives. It made no sense to me, playing with people and their feelings.

"Sweetheart. Please understand. I am not ashamed of you!"

Her chocolate voice became sour, like curdled cream,

"I am ashamed of them and how they will behave towards you! I am ashamed of myself, of how I shall have to act in their company. It is something I never wished for you to witness."

Bowing her head, she added, quietly,

"I am afraid it will make you think less of me!"

"I could never think less of you." I reassured.

Snapping her head up, she implored.

"How can you say that? You have no idea of the person I become when I'm around them!"

I had no answer for her. Deep down, I just knew. Just as I knew the first time we met, that she was different, that she was special. Instead, I replied,

"Your friends seemed so nice."

Her eyes narrowed as she scoffed,

". Sam, yes! Amelie, maybe. But Quinn, most certainly not! Appearances can be deceiving! "

Huffing out a huge breathe, she began to explain.

"Do you remember what I told you about Quinn?"

I nodded.

"I meant what I said. She is not a nice person. When she gets bored, she likes to entertain herself, her favourite game being other people. And the hundreds of delicious ways she can hurt them"

Tugging at my now damp sleeve, I mumbled,

"I will not come if you don't want me to?"

"No!" She shouted out, desperately, "It will only confirm her suspicions."

"What suspicions?"

Hesitantly, she answered,

"She saw us dancing and she thinks I harbour affections towards you."

My heart stopped.

Images from my previous imaginings raced across my mind. Did Santana return my feelings? Was there a small chance that she might leave with me?

"Do you?" I asked, cautiously

I held my breath, watching her every move for some sort of confirmation.

She began to pluck nervously at her dress in the heavy, pregnant, silence. Reaching for her across the cavernous distance between us in the small room, I entwined our fingers,

"Princess?"

Looking at me shyly through her long, dark lashes, she whispered so I had to strain to hear her,

"Yes!"

She hesitantly, continued,

"I know it sounds crazy, we barely know each other but you make me feel things I never thought I could feel! Things I don't quite understand."

Taking our entwined hands, she pressed mine to the silky, warm, caramel skin above her breast, keeping it clasped there within her own.

I could feel the quick, steady, thrum of her heartbeat beneath my fingertips.

"All I know is, when I'm around you, this is what happens. My heart tries to escape from my chest to get to you. When I see you, it's like I have a thousand butterflies in my stomach, all begging for release!"

Pausing, she closed the distance between us, wrapping her fingers of her left hand round the back of my neck, bringing our foreheads to rest against one another.

"I have told you more about myself in the last few days than I have ever told anyone in my life… When I'm with you, I can be myself and you make me feel like I can do anything!"

Her words rolled over me. This close I could make out every detail upon her tanned skin.

The tiny white scar beneath her, perfectly plucked, left eyebrow. How a few wisps of hair at her right temple were a shade lighter than the rest of her raven locks. How the deep horizontal groove in her plump bottom lip aligned perfectly with the bow of her top one.

The aroma of lavender and the hint of tobacco, mingling with the smell of fresh linen, surrounded me.

All these small thing made up Santana, the girl I was in love with.

Committing it all to memory, my head buzzed with her own revelation.

"Please!" She begged, "Tell me you feel it too?"

Goosebumps appeared on my flesh as her thumb lightly grazed the skin behind my ear. Nudging her nose with mine, I breathed,

"I do!"

A small smile of relief appeared before me.

Snaking my right arm around her waist, I pulled her closer, catching her bottom lip, gently, between my own. She let out a quiet moan as I grazed it lightly with my teeth. Parting her luscious lips, she allowed her tongue to slip past them and meet mine.

I deepened our kiss, dancing our tongues together, enjoying the way she clenched my hand at her chest and her heart quickened beneath my fingertips.

Roughly, she pushed me further back into the shelves. Pressing herself against me, she slid her leg between my thighs, as far as her skirts would allow, causing me to throb.

Bearing down on her strong thigh, I let out a small whimper into her mouth as the pressure of our contact caused tingles of pleasure to shoot through me.

Breaking the kiss, we gasped for air, our chests heaving. She was so beautiful. Her eyes were huge and dark. They flittered, back and forth, searching me. Letting go of her hand at her chest, I held her in a close embrace, wanting to be as close to her as possible. I continued to keep her leg trapped, by pinching my thighs together.

She trembled in my arms.

I started trailing small butterfly kisses along her jaw line as she hurriedly began tugging at the fabric of Kurt's shirt. Pulling it free from my trousers, she quickly slid her hands beneath the material.

With her left hand, she lightly trailed the contours of my ribs whilst her right snaked round my waist, resting at the small of my back. Every feather light touch caused my skin to burn, like a furnace.

Gently I grazed my teeth at the small patch of skin just behind her left ear. Her hip bucked against my core and her nails scraped my lower back as she sighed,

"Mios Dios!"

"Did you like that Princess?" I murmured mischievously against her sweet tasting skin.

She hummed in agreement.

I continued my assault, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses, down along her neck.

"If you liked that, you will like this."

Slipping my right hand down from its nesting place at her back, I cheekily squeezed her backside. She squealed in shock and delight,

"Britt!"

I feigned innocence,

"What? I cannot help it! It is like peach! Its just there!"

I squeezed it again. She bucked, giggling.

"See! Like a peach!"

Her cheeks flushed crimson as she ventured,

"Peaches are hairy, are they not?"

"Are you saying you have a hairy arse, Miss Lopez?" I quipped.

Her eyes flew open wide in mock shock as she swatted at me playfully.

"Brittany Pierce, I most certainly do not have a hairy, as you call it, arse!"

"I would very much like to see that for myself." I boldly replied.

"Really?" She asked, bashfully.

I nodded, admitting,

"I want to kiss every part of you."

She lazily stroked patterns into my skin, contemplating my words.

"What about.." She paused, impishly "My toes?"

"Yes, definatly your toes,"

"But what if they are ugly?"

"If they are yours, they shall be perfect."

A small smirk played at the corners of her lips as she arched an eyebrow. Tipping her head coquettishly, she challenged,

"What about my armpits?"

Grinning at her, I began to pepper her face with soft kisses,

"Especially your armpits!"

"Eww!" She squealed, "That is disgusting! They will smell and be sweaty!"

Shrugging, I replied,

"What can I say? I like armpits."

Crinkling her small nose, she let out a huge laugh, showing her dimples.

That laugh and those dimples made me weak at the knees and caused my tummy to do somersaults. I placed a kiss into the crease of each one and another on the tip of her nose.

A key began to rattle in the door.

My heart leapt into my throat and she stiffened in my arms at the sound. My eyes swivelled in slow motion towards it.

What would some one say if they found us in here?

Immediately both our hands, closest to the door, flew from their previous nesting places to reach for the handle.

Mine grasped it first. Her hand over mine, we gripped it from underneath, keeping the door closed, holding on for dear life.

Somebody began to attempt to shove down the handle. Pulling each other closer, we both leaned back, using our combined weight to keep it firmly shut.

We could hear a muffled English accent from the other side as the handle continued to move ever so slightly and once more a key rattled in the key hole.

Catching Santana's expression of strain, I crossed my eyes and stuck out my tongue. She sucked in her lips and her eyes began to water as she attempted to stop her giggles.

"Stop!" She hissed.

Not to be shook from the hilarity of the situation and the thrill of being caught red handed, I stage whispered,

"Occupied!"

Sinking into me, she spluttered and shook as she struggled to contain her laughter. Just as she was about to lose control of herself, I leant down, kissing her hard, swallowing her guffaws.

We both jumped at the loud bang upon the door as some one cursed,

"Bloody thing!"

The pressure from the handle disappeared. We both exhaled a sigh of relief.

"You're crazy!" She breathed against my lips.

"I know. But you love it!" I murmured back.

Letting go of the handle, she re tucked Kurt's shirt back into my trousers. I relished her every movement, never breaking eye contact. Grinning at me, full of devilment, she teased,

"We can not have you walking around looking like that. People might think that you have been partaking in activities unbecoming a lady."

Fixing herself, she turned to me,

"How do I look?"

"Beautiful as ever."

Slipping her hand into mine, she went to leave. Suddenly she stopped, her brow furrowed in the most adorable way as she became thoughtful.

"What did Sue want with you?"

I wanted to tell Santana everything. I wanted there to be no secrets between us, but I remembered Ms Sylvester's warning. Taking the piece of paper from my pocket, I handed it to her,

"She wanted to talk about my dancing and my plans when we dock."

Unfolding it, she began to read. Suddenly she rushed forward, engulfing me in an excited, bone-crushing hug. I felt her mumble into my chest,

"Oh my God Britt, that's amazing!"

"It was just a talk." I wheezed.

Untangling herself, she waved the piece of paper for emphasis,

"Britt, this could be our golden ticket!"

'Our golden ticket?'

Had I heard her correctly?

I was about to ask when she refolded it, handing it back to me. She winced as I stuffed it back into my pocket. She suddenly became serious,

"Britt, promise me that, during this dinner, no matter what I say or do, you will not doubt how I feel about you?"

"I wont!" I assured her.

She held out her pinkie,

"Promise?"

I linked hers with mine,

"I promise!"

Squeezing my pinkie, she reached up, kissing me hard, until the air disappeared from my lungs, before cautiously opening the door and poking out her head.

I felt like the famous cat burglars I had heard of in Paris, creeping around under the safety of darkness, wondering what precious jewels I could obtain.

Nodding at me that the coast was clear, she pulled me out into the small passageway. Immediately the cool change in the air hit me. She turned to me with a strange glint in her eyes and her tone I did not recognise,

"There are things I need to do, things I need to figure out." She patted my pocket, becoming stern," What ever you do, do not lose that paper and _do not_ be late for Ms Sylvester!"

I frowned in confusion at her change in behaviour. Why was Ms Sylvester all at once so important?

"I may not be able to see you before the dinner, but remember sweet Britt-Britt, I shall be thinking of you."

I brought her hand to my lips, kissing her knuckles. Reluctantly, she let go, motioning behind her.

"I must go this way."

I watched as she made her way down the passageway, blowing me a seductive kiss before she rounded the corner.

I stood with a goofy smile plastered across my face, reeling from the roller coaster of emotions I had experienced in such a short space of time.

Today had not gone as I had expected.

In fact, it had some how, against all odds, worked out better.

X

X

X

**Faithful readers and new comers alike. Apologies it took so long to update. Moving house, birthday and what not.. How ever, I did get some fantastic new research material in a number of books given as birthday presents so I was trawling through them **

**Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed the new chapter. Feel free to review as I always enjoy hearing from you and what you have to say in order to improve. **

.


	15. Chapter 15

**RE UPLOAD. **

I apologise to those of you that have already read this chapter but there was a huge, glaring mistake, kindly pointed out to me by **boredsenseless2**.

Nothing much has changed.

Ladies and Gents, I hope you all had a happy and relaxing holidays and the New Years finds you well.

Too much indulgence upon my part and being unable to get near a laptop meant I was unable to post this sooner. I would like to thank you for your patience.

I would like to say hello to those of you that just before the holidays, joined us upon this voyage.

Once again, I would like to say a huge thank you to everyone who followed or favourited and reviewed and to anyone else that is reading this. Your mails and messages are always appreciated.

I do not have a beta at the moment so any grammatical errors and spelling mistakes are my own. I apologise. I am looking for a beta so if any one is interested drop me a line.

You can also get in contact at my handle. Tumblr . com

Hope u like it.

**Warning – Racial slurs. **

Chapter 15

X

**Brittany P.O.V**

X

_April 12__th__ RMS Titanic._

_X_

In my haste to tell my companions, my thrilling news I had galloped along the maze of passageways, being stopped only once by a disapproving porter who had caught me sliding down one of the banisters. He had visibly blanched when I brandished Ms Sylvester's letter in his face, his demeanour towards me changing immediately as he allowed me to pass with no further comment.

It seemed Ms Sylvester's , or The Dragon Lady as I thought of her, reputation proceeded her.

Santana's words of butterflies and fluttering hearts made me light on my feet as I nimbly weaved through the mid evening foot traffic on the Lower Decks. I greeted and nodded to those who I recognised, inquiring of the whereabouts of my friends. Finally, I was sent in the direction of their living quarters.

Exuberantly, I clattered through the flimsy door of their cabin. Barely able to contain myself any longer, I yelled, excitedly,

"Kurt! Puck!"

The two boys perched upon Kurt's bunk, startled in shock at my sudden entrance.

"Whoa Blondie," Puck chuckled, "Where's the fire?"

Bounding across the cabin floor, I chirped,

"Ms Sylvester's!"

"No Miss Brittany, he means," Kurt began. Shaking his head, he let out a small sigh, "It doesn't matter."

Puck gathered up his papers, shuffling them into a neat pile,

"Who's Ms Sylvester?"

I rested my elbows on the soft mattress that stood at shoulder height, grinning up at the both of them until my cheeks hurt as I rambled,

"She's Jones' boss, and her room is huge. Ten times the size of ours. The Upper Classes have fires, armchairs, tables, carpets and tea sets." I pushed myself back from the bunk, "Oh my god Kurt you should see the clothes." I spun round in a dainty pirouette, "Puck, it's so warm and they have dogs up there too!"

Puck watched me amused as Kurt muttered under his breath,

"The same dogs that shit on the decks where steerage children play?"

Puck nudged him.

"Stop, don't be so grouchy."

Ignoring Kurt's comment, I bounced on the balls of my feet clasping my hands together

"I have great news!"

Before I could continue, Kurt asked, hopefully.

"You're not going to the dinner?"

Smiling, I shook my head,

"No silly, of course I'm going."

The mood in the small room shifted at my words. Kurt's every move became deliberate and refined as he marked the page on the book he was reading, whilst Puck, silently, placed his sketches into his leather binder. They both exchanged a look before the Jewish boy climbed down from the edge of the bunk. Stuffing his cap on his messy hair, he shot me an apologetic glance as he mumbled,

"I'll leave you two alone." Staring straight at me, he added, "If you need me I'll be in the saloon."

We both watched as he left the cabin.

I could not fathom what I could have done or said to upset everybody so much. All I wanted was to share the news of my potential good fortune.

Patting the space previously occupied by Puck, Kurt asked, kindly,

"Miss Brittany, please come and join me?"

Using the bottom bunk as a step, I hauled myself onto the bed, shifting back until I rested against the wall, my feet dangling off the edge of the bed. I flapped them together comically.

"Here, you missed dinner. We can't have you wasting away." Kurt softly reproached as he handed me a small cloth parcel.

Carefully I un wrapped it. Inside were two slabs of thick bread and two dinner biscuits. Curiously, I peeled back the bread to reveal butter and slices of pale meat.

"What is it?"

"It's chicken. Its all we could bring you." He reached into his pocket, "And this."

A bright green apple rolled down the blanket coming to rest against my thigh.

Taking a huge bite of the sandwich, I mumbled my thanks. Kurt watched my every move. With the tension, still thick in the air, his silence made me uncomfortable. I felt the need to fill it,

"I met Santana after Ms Sylvester."

Rolling his eyes, he scoffed,

"Of course you did!"

Quietly I placed the half-eaten sandwich on the cloth in my lap. His attitude towards Santana irked me. What had she done to offend him? Crossing my legs, I turned to face him.

"Why don't you like her?" I asked, curiously.

"I do!" He implored.

"You don't!" I bit back.

He fiddled with the scarf at his neck, his face drawn into a deep frown as he stared off across the cabin. His voice became tight and clipped,

"I think she is a nice person but I do not think that she has your best interests at heart."

"How can you say that?" I demanded, "She has been nothing but kind and sweet to us."

"This ridiculous dinner for a start!" He snarled.

"What about it?" I snapped, defensively.

He ran his hand through his hair in frustration,

"Do you have any idea what you are getting yourself into?"

"A dinner?" I replied peevishly.

"No it is not!" He shouted, "Not to them it isn't!"

His normally pale cheeks turned an ugly red as he drove himself into frenzy, waving his arms in emphasis,

"To them it's a God damn competition! Who has the most expensive dress? Who made the most last quarter? Jesus Christ, they even compete over what Opera's they have attended and which books they have read!"

He leant forward, placing his hand gently on my arm. He begged, softly,

"Miss Brittany, would you please not reconsider?"

He made them sound like Gladiators, battling their foes, one after another until there was only one victor. Could it really be that awful? Santana had said she needed me there and so I would go.

"I made a promise!

Reeling back from me, he mocked,

"To who? Miss Lopez?"

My patience was wearing thin with the whole situation. This was not how I had seen my evening unfolding.. Hiding how unsettled he had made me, I straightened myself and kept my voice steady,

"Why are you being like this?"

Kurt fixed me with his worried eyes,

"I am trying to look after you!"

"So is Santana." I stated, matter a factly.

In a fit of rage, he flung himself from the bunk and began to pace,

"Don't be so blind Brittany, she is offering you up on a platter and you refuse to see it! What happens when someone questions the nature of your acquaintance?" He waved a finger at me as he continued to trail back and forth, "All it takes is one person to become suspicious and they shall surround you like a pack of ravenous wolves. Where do you think your Lady Lopez will be then?"

I gulped as I thought of Quinn and the reasons why Santana wished me to attend. The picture he was painting was beginning to terrify me. Steeling my resolve, I murmured quietly,

"She will look after me."

I repeated it over and over in my head, like a mantra. I believed, no I _knew_, that she would stick by her word.

"Oh my God!" The slender man exclaimed, "She could barely open her mouth this afternoon. What makes you think she will say one word in your defence once she's surrounded by her peers? If it comes down to her reputation or yours, she will leave you to hang!"

His comment snapped the last thread of calm I possessed. How could he think so little of her? She was not like the people that he knew. She would not leave me in the gutter to die. I felt my cheeks burn as my blood boiled. I leapt from the bunk, screaming,

"You don't know her!"

He took a step forward as he bellowed,

"Don't be so _stupid_!"

Hot tears of hurt welled in my eyes as I reached trembling for my sandwich and apple. My voice wavered,

"I came here to share my good news not to get a lecture about how evil you think Santana is!"

I flung Ms Sylvester's letter, hitting him square in the chest.

"A talent scout wants to meet me in the morning to discuss a job opportunity and I wanted you to come with me because I thought you where my friend and you would like all the pretty ponies and their clothes. But evidently not!"

He slowly began unfolding the letter. I needed to get away from him. I paused at the door, adding, quietly,

"Just so you know, Santana confessed she has feelings for me and I have feelings for her."

I heard his small voice begin,

"I'm sorry…I never…"

I slammed the door on the rest of his reply.

X

X

**Santana P.O.V**

X

_April 12__th__ RMS Titanic. Deck B _

X

As I entered my room, I was met with an eerie emptiness. With only the crackle of the fire to keep me company, I kicked off my shoes and began removing my jewellery, placing my earrings, necklace and bracelet, neatly beside each other upon the bedside cabinet.

Letting out a deep sigh I flopped backwards into the softness of my bed. Closing my eyes, I thought about everything that had transpired in the linen closet.

The feeling of her lips upon my neck.

How soft her pale skin felt beneath my fingertips.

How my insides had jumped and thrummed at her words, that she wanted me in the same way I had imagined having her.

(She returns my feelings!)

I had been filled with a mixture of relief and elation at her admission.

Now all I had to do was convince Sylvester to help me and I would be able to put my plan into action, but first there was the issue of the dancer's lack of evening attire.

Wandering over to my wardrobe, I began to rifle through the multitudes of dresses I owned. Each one I pulled out would not do the girl justice. Brittany deserved the perfect dress, and I needed to figure out a way in which I could make such a purchase without Richard or my Aunt asking questions.

The sound of movement reached me from the direction of the bathroom. I froze. I had assumed I was alone, expecting everyone else to be attending dinner. Turning, I called,

"Rachel?"

Approaching the bathroom, I could hear muffled sobs. Cautiously I pushed open the door to find my childhood companion rearranging the numerous bottles of bath salts and oils upon one of the shelves.

"I'm sorry Miss Santana, I did not mean to disturb you, I thought I was alone."

Slipping further into the room, I asked,

"What is the matter?"

I was met with silence.

Gingerly, I touched her shoulder encouraging her to face me. She turned, dabbing at her nose with a crumpled white handkerchief. Her eyes were puffy and red rimmed, there was a red welt upon her sallow cheek.

"My God!" I gasped, "What happened?"

"Nothing." She sniffled, "I wasn't looking where I was going."

Something was a miss. In all my years knowing her, I had never once heard Rachel admit to being anything other than graceful.

"Don't lie to me Rachel, "I growled, "If somebody hurt you I swear I'll.."

Ducking her head to avoid my glare, she cut me off,

"Miss Oakville wishes to see you in her quarters."

It clicked into place.

Ready to give my Aunt a piece of my mind, I tore open the connecting door in a fit of temper. Rachel hovered in the doorway behind me. The words died in my throat at the scene before me.

My Aunt sat, tumbler in hand and bare foot, beside a small table upon which sat a decanter half full of cognac. Wisps of hair had escaped her normally tight and perfect bun.

Momentarily I was taken a back. I had never seen my elder be anything other than prim and proper.

Taking a huge gulp, she winced as she swallowed the brown liquid. Becoming aware of our presence, my Aunt fixed us with a bleary stare as she slurred,

"Oh. I see you managed to get something right you useless mongrel!"

Stepping into the room, I barked,

"Enough!"

Waving the tumbler in our direction, my Aunt chuckled, maliciously

"Of course you'd stand up for your own!"

Turning, I ushered Rachel back into my own room.

"Take the rest of the evening off. Go visit Brittany or Mr Hummel."

"Miss Santana, don't!" She began.

"No, I shall not stand for this. Go!"

I watched as Rachel scurried away. Entering my Aunt's room, I bellowed,

"Who do you think you are, laying a hand on her?"

Pouring herself another glass, my Aunt sneered,

"She is MY maid and I can treat her how I see fit!"

Shaking with rage, I roared,

"She is not YOUR maid, she is an employee of my Father's and your behaviour towards her reflects upon him. How dare you sully his good name?"

Slamming her glass upon the table, she scoffed,

"My behaviour? You are one to be talking, you hypocritical bitch!"

Leaning against the door jam with my arms across my chest, I snapped back,

"And just what exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"How you continue to humiliate your fiancé and me by disappearing off to meet that Sylvester woman after I specifically told you not to!"

Before I could reply, she continued,

"I bet you had a right laugh at my expense."

Taking a step into the room, I replied coldly,

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't play coy with me Santana, it doesn't suit you" She spat. "I know how that poisonous wench works. Turning people against me,"

Reaching for the decanter, I warned,

"You're not making any sense. I think you've had enough."

Peevishly she snatched it from my grasp. Inclining her head, she gestured to the seat across from her,

"Sit down and join me, I have a story to tell you!."

Instead, I made my way over to the drinks cabinet, pouring myself a generous amount of bourbon over ice. Something in the tone of her voice told me I was going to need it. She watched my every move with a cool interest that belied her intoxication. Returning, I slipped myself into the red and gold armchair chair across from her.

The crackle of the fire and the clink of ice upon glass, were the only sounds to permeate the palpable silence.

(The calm before the storm.)

Relaxing back, I took a slow deliberate sip, swilling the amber liquid around in my mouth, enjoying the aromas and tastes. Satisfied she had my full attention she began,

"Russell and I were lovers once."

I swallowed in shock, coughing as the bourbon burned my throat.

"He was going to ask Daddy for my hand in marriage." She paused, tipping the tumbler, inspecting its contents,"Everything was going swimmingly until your Father came along wishing to do business with the famed Oakville Winery. But I knew the real reason"

Taking gulp of her drink, she continued.

"Your Mother was quite the catch, she was rich and beautiful and could have any man she wanted but no, she was enamoured with her dashing Spanish prince." Her top lip curled with disdain as she maliciously, spat, "And what Lizzie wanted, Lizzie got!"

Unsteadily she poured herself another glass, whilst I took another small sip of my own,

"I tried to warn Father, how people would perceive us at allowing such a union, but he was so proud that his favourite had hooked a Royal, he threw all social etiquette out the window and foolishly allowed them to marry after only a few months courting.!"

Seething at the way in which she spoke of my Mother but wishing her to continue, I replied, curtly,

"I fail to see how your relationship with Russell had anything to do with my parents?"

Her eyes narrowed to pin points, her mouth twisting as if she had swallowed a bag of pins,

"Of course it did! Russell and I had been waiting years and as soon as he found out he would be related to a dirt scrabbling Spic he called the whole thing off."

Slamming my glass down upon the table with such force the contents sloshed over the sides, I started,

"Don't you dare.."

Jumping up from her seat, she screeched,

"I am not finished!" She began to pace the room, like a caged animal, "That Sylvester woman spread rumours as to my virtue." She snickered, "My virtue! When you where born only 8 months later. They told everyone that you arrived early but I knew the truth. My sister was a wanton hussy!"

I could not contain myself any longer. Launching myself from my seat in fury, I screamed,

"If you hated them both so much, why did you go to Spain with them?"

She lunged towards me.

Nose to nose, I could smell the sourness of the liquor on her breath; see the white spittle at the corners of her mouth. Restraining myself, I balled my fists and gritted my teeth. I wanted nothing more than to beat her where she stood, to slap her for every insult and slight.

Her face contorted with rage,

"I had no choice, my reputation was in tatters."

Locking her cold, green eyes with mine, she hissed,

"And everyone knew I was the Aunt of a dirty, half breed!"

I reeled from her words, like a boxer taking a punch to the gut, as the realization dawned on me. This woman, my own flesh and blood, despised me! The blood roared in my ears and I struggled to breathe as I collapsed back into the armchair

(Finally, the truth)

"You should have just gone home," I choked.

Her voice drifted over me, playfully malicious,

"Did your precious father not tell you? I had no home. I was stuck with you both in that God Forsaken place! Your grandfather was in debt up to his eyeballs and Miguel paid it off on the proviso that when he died the vineyard fell to him as repayment!"

Her lips twisted into a ghoulish smile as she added with faux brightness,

"So you see Santana, every marriage is a business transaction!"

X

X

X

**Brittany P.O.V**

_HMS Titanic, Deck D._

X

X

Sitting on the bottom bunk and using one of Jones' travelling trunks as a table, I lay out a deck of cards, practising my slight of hand and palming techniques so as not to get rusty. I found the cards soothing and liked that they helped me think.

Mr Royston had said that a good palmer with a good set of tricks could earn their bread and butter on the streets of a big city. He had told me that such an innocent face and large hands should not go to waste and taught me every trick that he knew, wanting me to have something to fall back on just in case things did not go to plan in New York.

Being back in my own cabin and away from the caustic atmosphere in Puck and Kurt's, and without the constant barrage of angry words, I was able to breathe a little easier

Unseeing, a good palmer had no need to look at their cards, I manipulated them into their allotted places, allowing the feeling of the familiar creases and nodges beneath my finger tips to guide me as I contemplated Kurt's harsh words.

I was sure he had not meant it but he still had no right to judge Santana when he knew nothing of her, no matter his own experiences with the Upper Classes.

I had no idea that such a small gesture could cause so much stress amongst people who had nothing to do with it. I trusted Santana and if she thought it best that I attend, then I would. I would sit, eat what was placed in front of me, pass pleasantries and have done with this God-awful mess.

How bad could it be?

Santana had confessed her feelings for me, Ms Sylvester had shown interest in employing me, I should be out celebrating instead of sat in my small cabin, alone, with a knot in my stomach and the bitter after taste of argument in my mouth.

What did Santana's confession mean for us?

She had said that she needed to figure things out and that Ms Sylvester's letter was _our_ golden ticket.

Was she considering stepping off the ship with me?

From what she had confided, I doubted that her family and Fiancé would willingly allow her to leave without a fight. I imagined myself as a modern day Zorro with a mighty steed, spiriting away the beautiful Senorita.

A soft rap upon the door brought me from my thoughts.

In frustration at being disturbed, I slammed the cards down, stalking over to the door,. Wrenching it open, I snarled,

"I told you I wanted to be left alone!"

"I am sorry Brittany. I did not mean to disturb you." Came the meek, feminine reply.

I looked down into the wide, shocked eyes of Santana's maid, struggling to cradle two large brown bottles. I asked, in surprise,

"Rachel? What are you doing here?"

"Being I find your company quite agreeable, I was wondering if it might be possible to join you?" Eagerly, she attempted to hold out the bottles, "I brought beverages as is the custom when calling upon one unannounced."

She shifted uncomfortably. My hand whipped out, catching one just as it was about to slip.

I wished to be alone, but how could I refuse her when she looked at me with such hope. Standing to one side, I sighed,

"Sure, I guess."

Giving me brief look of relief, she bustled past, placing the bottle on the make shift table. Closing the door, I asked,

"I thought you didn't drink alcohol?"

Seating herself, demurely, on Jones' bunk, she began to remove her starch white bonnet,

"I do not usually but Miss Santana gave me the evening off and as nothing about this trip so far is usual, I decided to take it as an opportunity to live a little and take part in new experiences"

"You're lying Rachel, what is the real reason?"

She placed the tiny cap on the bed beside her as she conceded,

"Ok! They are having, how shall I put it, a house discussion and it is deemed rather rude for the serving staff to be present for such conversations. They tend to become quite heated due to Santana being somewhat fiery. There now you have it."

Sitting down on the opposite bunk, I chuckled,

"Santana has a temper you mean?"

Removing a small metal hook from the pocket of her apron, she opened the cap of her bottle with a pop,

"I never said that!"

I watched how flustered she became, not wanting to be seen saying anything negative about her mistress, much like Jones when I had asked about Quinn. It was as if they were both afraid of speaking the truth for fear of reprimand. I could not imagine having a job where it was forbidden to speak my mind. I handed her the other bottle,

"But you implied it." I cajoled.

Struggling to open it in her child like hands, she huffed,

"That is neither here nor there!"

To lighten her mood, I teased,

"So where is it?"

She placed the bottle on the table, wiping a few stray cards out of the way,

"Why do you have to be so difficult?"

Grinning, I quipped back,

"Why do you have to be so complicated?"

Catching my expression, she burst out laughing. Smiling that smile that would be worshipped on any stage she set foot on, if she was ever that way inclined, she asked, expectantly,

"Do you have any glasses?"

Reaching over, I grabbed the sole tin cup from the sink,

"No, but you can have this one. I don't mind drinking from the bottle."

Handing it to her, I watched as she wiped it with her sleeve. Like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar, she apologised,

"Sorry, force of habit."

She poured the ale into her cup whilst I took a draft from the bottle. It was much smoother and lighter than the ale we had drank the evening before. It tasted of something fruity that I could not put a name to.

In the small silence, I could feel Rachel studying me and once more, I got the impression she wanted to know all my secrets. In a bid to shield myself I furiously tried to think of something to say. Noticing the mark upon her cheek, I asked

"What happened to your face?"

Shifting awkwardly, she dropped her gaze. Her voice lacked conviction as she mumbled,

"It is nothing. I was clumsy and walked into a door."

I now understood what Santana had meant when she had told me that Rachel could not lie. I was about to press her further when she suddenly cut me off, changing the subject,

"There is something I wish to discuss with you. But it is of a rather delicate nature."

Rubbing my eyes in exasperation, I groaned,

"If this is another conversation about how Santana is a bad person, I don't want to hear it."

"No! Not at all!" Rachel gasped, "Santana is not a bad person, she's just dealing with a lot of things right now." She began picking up the cards, "Why? Did somebody say other wise?"

"Kurt!" I muttered, darkly, "He believes that if I attend this dinner and things become difficult that she will feed me to the wolves."

"Do you think she shall do that?"

I could only wonder if Rachel knew the true nature of our friendship. What Kurt had said was true, she had not stood for me on the top deck, but I could not explain why I knew that it would not be the case in the dinner, without giving ourselves away. I shook my head, picking at the ridges of the cool bottle in my hands. The smaller girl began shuffling the cards, idly, stating,

"Well in that case, pay no attention to him. From what I have come to learn of Santana, through years of being in her family's service, is that she is rather protective of the things she cares for. And I do believe that for what ever reason, she has come to care for you. These last few days she has seemed more like her old self, before the courtship, and quite frankly I think you have something to do with it."

The knot in my stomach tightened. In a bid to feign nonchalance, I took a huge gulp of my drink,

"What makes you say that?" I queried,

She placed the cards down beside her

"Servants gossip, its what they do, I of course do not debase myself with such frivolous behaviours but it is quite difficult to ignore when it contains my employer rubbing shoulders and dancing with members of steerage for all to see." She took a small delicate sip, peering at me over the cup, adding kindly, "She smiles more often and I have caught her humming to herself. When she is alone with me, she is happier. I know that is isn't Kurt or Puck that has brought this about, so that only leaves you."

I felt my cheeks turn crimson at thought that I could have had such an effect on her in such a short amount of time. Avoiding Rachel's ever watchful eyes, I ducked my head, focusing instead on the pattern in the timber floor.

Clearing her throat, she continued,

"I need to ask you something and the only reason I bring it up is because I over heard Miss Fabray and Santana discussing it. Now normally I would never repeat what I hear as I have a position of trust and responsibility, but I have come to think of you as a friend and I want you to know that I will not judge you, I would just like you to answer me honestly."

Once more, I wondered how this girl could say so many words without collapsing due to lack of oxygen. She really was in the wrong profession, she ought to be a magician's assistant, there would be plenty of tricks that she could perform with her lungs alone.

"Jesus Rachel, spit it out!" I demanded, playfully.

She leaned forward, lowering her voice, as if telling a secret.

"Are you a sapphite?"

Smiling at her, I replied,

"People say my eyes are all the time. Personally I think they look like a spring sky."

She frowned,

"No not a Sapphire. A sapphite!"

Leaning back on my bunk, I asked,

"What's that?"

Rachel began to nervously fiddle with the blanket beneath her. Casting me sidelong glances, she mumbled,

"A woman who has romances with other women."

On my travels, I had seen many different types of relationships amongst many different sorts' people. I knew of women that had relationships with just women but I had never heard them refer to themselves as that.

I was aware that some types of relationships were frowned upon and so were very rarely discussed, especially in public, even though I did not understand why. I was taken a back that Rachel would ask me so openly.

Gauging Rachel's reaction from the shadows of the bunk above, I ventured,

"Is there something wrong with it?"

She set her shoulders, proudly,

"No. I am no stranger to the unconventional as I was raised by two men."

Not wishing to have the discussion that could very well lead to questions about either Santana, or myself I played dumb,

"So what does that have anything to do with it? I was raised by plenty of different people."

Slumping her shoulders in resignation, she sighed,

"Never mind." Her eyes scanned the room, landing on something over my head. "Is that the dress you're going to wear?"

She stood up, obscuring her head and shoulders. The worn blue garment suddenly appeared in my line of sight, twisting this way and that as she inspected it. Peering into the shadows at me, she chided,

"Brittany, you can not possibly wear this!"

"So everybody keeps telling me!" I muttered bitterly.

Sitting back down, she continued to turn the cuffs and collar.

"Do you not have anything else?"

She was beginning to get on my last nerve. I was sick and tired of people poking at my appearance. Until the Titanic, I had never had an issue with my attire. I snapped,

"Do I look like the Empress of China to you?"

Before she could reply the door banged open and I breathed a sigh of relief as the warm, southern drawl of Jones' boomed into the cabin,

"You're here, praise the lord."

I could hear the clink of cutlery and crockery. Shuffling forward, I half hung off the bunk, giving her a lopsided grin and a small wave. Standing in the doorway, she smiled back at me over a small wooden crate with a cloth bag on top. She continued,

"Rachel are you just going to sit there or are you going to give me a hand? If you worked for that battleaxe Sylvester, she would have had you flung overboard before we left Cherbourg!"

The small maid jumped up, as if in fear that she might very well be thrown over board, discarding my dress on the bunk above her and taking the bag. Jones winked at me as she entered, placing the small wooden crate on the floor. I crinkled my nose, suppressing a giggle.

Rachel began rifling through the contents of the bag, pulling out knifes, forks, and spoons, laying them out on the bunk. Buffering one or two piece on the sleeve of her uniform, she gasped,

"Jones, this is real! Did you steal it?" The tiny brunette, began to panic, dropping the knife back onto the bed, her voice rose an octave, "You shall get us into so much trouble. Brittany I want you as witness that I had absolutely nothing at all to do with this!"

Jones rolled her eyes,

"Don't be ridiculous, Sylvester allowed me to borrow it. What kind of idiot would attempt to steal from their boss, on a boat, in the middle of the ocean?"

I snorted, nearly choking on my drink. Rachel's face brightened,

"Oh well in that case then."

She began again to rummage through the bag, removing a small, fancy looking glass. She held it aloft like a famed chalice from Mount Olympus, swapping the contents from my tin cup to the glass.

"So what is this?"

The black maid removed her apron and tossed aside her cap.

"It's practise"

She made her way over to the sink, turning on the tap, as Rachel asked,

"Do you not think we ought to be figuring out a dress?"

Jones rolled back her sleeves and began washing her face. She mumbled through the cloth,

"It's not a priority."

"Of course it is!" Rachel replied, incredulously.

"No it isn't!" Jones countered,

"What is then?" Rachel snapped back.

"Her table manners!"

They were like two sisters, squabbling. Jones towelled herself dry and quickly brushed her hair.

"So are you going to help her?"

I sat back and observed the two maids in confusion as they began removing cutlery and glasses in various shapes and sizes, from the wooden crate and bag. I asked, excitedly.

"Are we having a dinner party?"

Jones looked at me whilst she folded an expensive napkin, lacing it through a shiny, metal ring,

"Not quite. We are going to help you prepare. There is not a hope in hell I am allowing you near that Fabray woman without it!" She placed the napkin down, "You're one of us Brittany, She will be watching you like a hawk, waiting for you to make a mistake and we are going to show her that we can be just as snobby as they are!"

Looking between the two girls, I wailed,

"But I don't want to be a snob!"

"It can not hurt to learn how to conduct oneself." Rachel reproached, placing out the small glasses,

Jones glowered at her, bumping her slightly, with her full hips, putting in front of me, on the make shift table, a fancy looking bowl and plate. It was white with a gold leaf pattern round the rim.

"There is nothing wrong with her conduct. It's them that don't know how to behave themselves. Whose side are you on anyways?"

"Ours, of course. I was just stating that sometimes Brittany can be a little strange. That's all."

Jones busied herself laying out four different sized silver forks that reflected the light all around the room on the left hand side of the bowl and plate.

"I'd take strange over being an evil bastard any day. And we both know that woman is pure unadulterated evil. Just look what she did to Alice!"

I reached out to touch the forks; Rachel slapped my hand away, replying,

"And that's why I feel it's prudent to address the issue of her attire"

Jones turned to the smaller woman, her hands on her hips, her stance very similar to Ms Sylvester,

"Would you prefer that she humiliate herself and your Mistress because she doesn't know the rules of the Circus?"

Rachel suddenly spurred into action, taking the remaining cutlery from Jones, hurriedly laying them out. I brimmed with excitement at the thought of the animals.

"There's a Circus travelling on board?"

Maybe I might be able to take Santana to see them?

"No Brittany, it's a metaphor." Jones replied. Stepping back to admire her handy work, she added, breezily "There all done."

A large spoon and a fat round spoon above the bowl had appeared, with three oddly shaped knives on the right. Rachel picked up a small spoon that only a baby would use.

"Right," She smiled at me brightly, " Lets begin with the starters."

X

X

**Unfortunately I feel that this is not my best work. Thinking I may have dropped the ball on this one Ladies and Gentleman.. **

**The next chapter is already in the works and I have a much clearer picture of the direction it is heading in. **


	16. Chapter 16 preview

Dear Readers, I know that I have been rather neglectful in regards to updating this fiction. As some of you know I have become sidetracked with my other fiction Vamp Verse, however, I have not abandoned Ships of Time, quite the opposite in fact. I have started mapping out Shifting Sands which shall be in Santana's and another character's.

We are currently in the middle of what I like to call 'Titanic Season' for me its like Shark Week . I've been taking full advantage and researching. New documentaries and exhibitions come out, some with new information and others personal snippets I may have forgotten or missed comes to light..

The Titanic's huge loss of life was a tragedy that with a little foresight and less greed could have been averted. After the sinking there were many maritime laws regarding passenger safety put into place that are still upheld to this day. So maybe we can think that their passing was not in vein.

As today is Sunday 14th April and the ocean liner sank on Sunday 14th of April, I thought it would be only fitting to upload the part of the chapter I have managed to write.

I would have preferred to upload the whole chapter but I have only managed to write half and I have no intentions in rushing through it. It was always planned as a large, informative chapter and I shall give it the attention it deserves.

Thank for being so patient and faithfully following.. Vamp Verse shall soon be finished and I shall return to my labour of love.

Let us not forget those that perished.

X

Chapter 16

X

**Santana P.O.V**

X

_April 13__th__. RMS Titanic. Deck B _

X

After dealing with the likes of Quinn Fabray, I had not thought it possible for words to cause me harm but I found that my Aunt's had cut me to the quick.

(Dirty half-breed.)

I had cried myself into a fitful slumber, tossing and turning all night. With sleep eluding me, I had dragged myself onto the promenade as soon as the first tendrils of the dawn had reached out.

(Mongrel.)

The dull grey of the early morning and the dark choppy waters below reflected my mood. My limbs felt heavy and a dull throb pulsed through my forehead as the events of the previous evening haunted me.

(Spic.)

I was no fool, I was well aware of many of the slurs my peers used to refer to me behind my back, only adding fuel to the contempt I felt towards them, but to have it so blatantly thrown in my face by my own flesh and blood was something else entirely.

I had always thought that in her own strange way, deep down, she loved me, preferring to show it by attending to my education and pushing me to succeed, rather than lavishing me with affection.

Now I realised it was not out of love or a need to protect me or my future but out of a necessity to secure her own. I was nothing more to her than a means to an end and my very existence repulsed her.

Shivering, I withdrew further into my housecoat. My hands felt numb and my face stung from the bitter cold of the Atlantic but I could not bring myself to re-enter the cabin, choosing to endure the physical pain instead.

Did my Father know of her true feelings?

Was everything I knew of my Aunt a lie?

When had the people I had known all my life become strangers and strangers I had known for a matter of days become the people I hankered to keep in my life?

I felt lost and helpless, like a fox with no where to run to ground, whilst everything else, Richard's unwanted affections, Quinn's devious plans, my Aunts cruel words, snapped at the edges of my sanity like hounds baying for my blood.

It was all too much

I struggled to breathe as my despair smothered me. Biting my hand, I let out a muffled wail of anguish.

I felt a pair of slender arms wrap around my waist and a small body press lightly against my back as I heard the gentle words,

"Shhh Santana. It will be ok."

I stiffened slightly before realising how much I craved the comfort. Turning I crumbled into the safe embrace of my faithful ally and companion. I wept upon her shoulder, allowing every confusing emotion to burst from me in one huge uncontrollable torrent.

She began to hum a soft tune and rub soothing circles on my back, much as she had done when we were children and I had crept into her bed on those cold, dark nights, soon after the loss of my Mother.

I sank into the familiarity of childhood memories. She rocked me gently until my sobs subsided. Squeezing me a little tighter, she whispered,

"What is wrong?"

My tongue thick from the tears, I husked,

"Everything!"

She stroked my hair and placed a chaste kiss to my temple. The small action and coarse, damp material beneath my cheek brought me back to the reality of our respective stations. Reluctantly I pulled back from her embrace. In an attempt to hide my embarrassment at my sudden outburst, I joked, half heartedly,

"I have ruined your uniform, using you as a handkerchief

Rubbing the heel of my palm across my cheek, I caught her warm eyes. I was thankful to find her expression void of pity, instead she looked kind as she assured me,

"It's ok, it will dry." She brushed off her shoulder as she coaxed. "Please will you come inside before you catch your death?"

I needed a few moments alone to compose myself. Shaking my head, I replied,

"I can not. Not just yet."

She nodded in understanding.

"Well at least allow me to fix you a hot beverage?" She began to search through the pockets of her apron, retrieving my cigarette case and a box of matches; she held them out, "Here."

I took them gratefully. Not yet ready to step back into the loneliness that my life had become, I squeezed her hand, lightly,

"Will you join me? My Aunt shall not be waking any time soon. And I have no idea when we shall next get the opportunity to share a spot of tea alone together"

She tipped her head, giving me a toothy smile,

"I would like that."

She left with a bounce in her step.

Collapsing into the love seat, I noticed that the lump in my throat had disappeared and the weight seemed to be gone from my shoulders. Cupping my hand round the miniscule flame of the match, I shakily lit my cigarette. Inhaling, I watched as the weak flame flickered and died. I scoffed to myself, as the fitting metaphor did not pass me by.

Looking around the deck, my mind began to birl once more.

The expensive clothes. The lavish cotillions and balls. The continuous merry go round of opulent apartments and stately mansions. The excessive travelling across continents. Maids and servants willing to cater to my every whim at a single command. Attending fashion houses and the races in the newest of styles, just to be seen. Visiting high-end restaurants, being served the most gourmet meals made by the best chefs in the world.

It was the life my Aunt wished to lead; not I.

She had groomed me within an inch of my sanity, for her own satisfaction and gain, twisting me into a wizened caricature of my former self with no concern as to how miserable I had become.

At what cost?

My happiness!

What was its _true_ price and did I really have the strength or the courage to walk away from everything I knew and into the unknown?

I knew my Aunt was not the only one to harbour such opinions towards people of colour. In the real world, amongst the masses that would not be bound by social etiquette, they would be much harsher.

Rachel appeared with a laden drinks tray and a blanket draped over her arm. Placing the tray on the table, she tossed me the blanket as she began pouring the coffee. She handed me a cup before attending to her own.

It was exactly how I liked it, thick, strong and black. The rich aromas made my mouth water. As she poured herself generous amounts of cream, I patted the place beside me,

"Sit."

Ceremoniously, she dropped two lumps of sugar in to her cup before seating herself beside me. I shuffled closer until we were sat shoulder to shoulder, draping the warm blanket over the both of us. She linked her left arm through mine pulling us closer still.

"Rachel," I queried, "May I ask you something?"

She looked up from stirring her coffee, where it teetered precariously on her lap.

"Anything."

If anybody had the answer to my provocative question, it would be Rachel. Unlike me, she did not have the luxury of a title and inheritance to protect her. I ventured,

"How do you deal with it everyday?"

Carefully placing the teaspoon on her saucer, she took a dainty sip from her cup before asking,

"With what?"

As I cradled the cup in my hands, the warm porcelain chased away the chill in my palms and fingers

"People treating you differently because of the colour of your skin."

Her brow crinkled slightly as she pondered my question.

"To be honest Santana, I never really thought about it until we left Spain. Now I find I have grown quite used to it."

I could not understand how she could say it so coolly, as if it did not matter. I pressed further,

"But does it not upset you?"

She gave a non-committal shrug,

"Sometimes it does, but on those days I try to concentrate on the fact that for every racist person out there, there is someone who isn't," She paused, "Like Brittany, for instance."

I felt my lips curl upwards at the mention of the dancer. Catching my expression, Rachel nudged me playfully, smiling back,

"Speaking of which, Jones and I had quite the lark attempting to teach her the finer points of dining etiquette."

Hiding my ear-splitting grin in my cup, I asked,

"How did she fair?"

"She found it quite daunting at first, but I think she got the hang of it. She might very well get a little confused with the forks, but they would confuse anyone, so it might be best if you sit nearby, in case she needs a helping hand of course."

I swelled with pride that Brittany had managed, in one evening, to learn something that had taken me lesson after lesson to perfect.

"It was kind of you both to do that for her."

The small woman reached for the coffee pot, checking the heat with her palm. Satisfied that it was warm enough, she refilled my cup as she said,

"Jones' and I did all the work of course but it was under the instruction of Ms Sylvester."

Taken aback, I quirked an eyebrow in surprise,

"Really? Ms Sylvester does not strike me as the type of person to think of such things."

"My thoughts exactly." Rachel replied. Returning the coffee pot back to the tabletop she added, "It would seem that no matter where Brittany goes, people cannot help but like her."

I hummed in agreement,

"She is most certainly one of a kind."

There was a lull in conversation as we watched the morning mist dissipate and the weak rays of the sun attempt to break through the thick bank of heavy clouds. Rachel broke it, sighing, wistfully,

"Do you remember when we used to sit like this in the mushroom tree, watching the horses, before it all became so complicated?"

I took a sip of the warm bitter liquid, enjoying the heat it sent through me.

"I do."

When we were young, we had both been loners for entirely different reasons. Me, due to my quick temper and my preference for my own company, Rachel due to the circumstances in which she arrived at the hacienda.

On my arrival in the cool stables or at the lake, all the other children would scatter in all directions, except Rachel who would bounce over to me talking a mile a minute about anything and everything.

In the beginning, I used her for target practise, throwing grapes at her, hoping she would get the hint and leave me alone, but she never did. Instead, she became my constant shadow. Despite how annoying she was, I grew to enjoy her company, even though I never once admitted it until we became much older.

I continued,

"If I remember correctly you used to always complain because you couldn't reach the lowest branch and then complain when you could not get back down."

Pulling the blanket up further around her, she implored,

"That's not fair! My legs were not as long as yours were. I also can't believe that you managed to convince me I was a tree elf and I was found underneath it wrapped in leaves."

The way the story was told, she had been discovered, early one morning, half-naked and abandoned in the vines, babbling in what they thought was a mixture of Spanish and Italian. There had been no reports in the local area of any accidents or missing children. Nobody had any idea where she had come from or knew anything about her.

Hiram, my father's most trusted supervisor and the person that found her had readily agreed to raise her and called her Rachel because, when he first heard her, she sounded like a bleating lamb.

At my young age, I could hardly be blamed for confusing the two.

I responded, adamantly,

"It was half true! Besides it was not my fault you were so gullible!"

"How was I to know any different? No wonder the other children thought I was loco. You let me run round telling everyone I was a Nymph!"

I stifled a giggle at the memory.

"That must have been awkward for Hiram to explain?"

She swatted at me in mock anger,

"It's not funny Santana! It was mean!" She paused, adding softly as an after thought, "I really miss that tree."

Nudging her, I teased,

"Why, because it was your mother?"

She suddenly became serious,

"No, because it was ours and nobody else's."

She had become curious, wondering why no one would come near 'our' sacred tree. I had led her to believe that they were afraid her 'mother' would swallow them whole, for being so mean to her, when in actual fact I had threatened every other child on the vineyard, with pain of death if they ever as so much as even looked it.

Looking back on it, it was quite ridiculous.

Suddenly struck with a bout of melancholy, I ached for simpler times.

To say that we had spent nearly every waking moment of our lives together, as adults, there was such a vast distance between us. When my Aunt had decided to train her as our servant, it had pained me to watch her become so formal and distant. We rarely had the opportunity to be ourselves around each other anymore. I uttered quietly

"I miss it too."

Tipping back her cup, she swallowed the rest of its contents.

"As much as I would like to spend more time with you, Miss Santana, I'm afraid I must start my daily chores. I have a slight feeling that Miss Oakville shall not be in the most agreeable of moods."

(Back to being so formal.)

Taking my cup and saucer from my unresisting hands, she placed it on the tea tray and began to gather the rest of crockery,

"Before I forget, Jones asked me to tell you that Ms Sylvester wishes to see you this morning, in her quarters. She did not specify a time."

I nodded in acknowledgement. Picking up the tray, the small brunette turned to leave.

"Thank you Rachel."

She stopped, looking at me in puzzlement.

"For what?"

"For everything."

"You don't have to thank me. Just make me a promise."

I had to be very careful when making Rachel promises, I could very well find myself stuck listening to everything ever written by Irving Berlin.

"It depends on what it is."

"What ever it is you're planning to do, promise me that you will bring me with you?"

How could she know?

Even I had not put much thought into what I might do. It was a fleeting notion at best. I feigned innocence,

"I have no idea as to what you are referring to."

She smirked at me knowingly.

"Come now Santana, I can see those cogs in your mind whirling away. It means you're up to something." Turning on her heel, she threw over her shoulder, "You forget, I know you better than you know yourself."

I called after her,

"Could I ever leave you behind? If I tried you would only follow!"

Throwing me a wink, she exited the promenade.

Grinning, I snuggled further into the blankets, enveloping myself in both types of warmth she left behind in her wake.

It was comforting to know, in the midst of everything that surrounded me, there were one or two little things that could be relied on to never change.

X


End file.
